Seven Times
by brickroad16
Summary: Seven times Sarah Walker lets Chuck Bartowski take care of her.
1. The Flu

A/N: This is a new story that popped into my mind. I envision it as being similar in tone to _Collide_, so I hope you guys like it! It's turning out to be much longer than I originally envisioned, but I'm going to try to come out with fairly regular updates. I'm planning on having seven chapters (if you couldn't tell from the title, lol).

A big thanks to **BillatWork** and **GCG **for their thoughts and suggestions!

The lyrics throughout the story are from Snow Patrol's "Signal Fire."

* * *

_The perfect words never crossed my mind,  
'Cause there was nothing in there but you._

"Chuck?"

Sarah's mouth twitches upwards as she stares at the man standing in the hallway and grinning adorably at her. That smile. That smile makes her forget about the fact that she's spent the last two days retching into the toilet and sneezing until her nose is as red as a clown's. He opens his mouth to say something when she feels a familiar itch in her nose.

"_Achoo_!"

"God bless you," Chuck says.

"Thanks." Sniffling and wiping her nose with a tissue, she motions for him to come inside. "What –" She pauses to blow her nose. "What are you doing here? I'm going to get you sick."

He shrugs her off. "Don't worry about it. I have the immune system of an ox."

There's a silence as both contemplate his answer, Chuck pursing his lips and clearly wishing to take it back.

"Uh," he stammers, "but hey, I thought you'd be bored, since you've pretty much been cooped up in here for the past few days. So I brought you something." With another charming smile, he brandishes a take-out bag and a _Wall-E_ DVD.

She raises an eyebrow, accusing playfully, "That looks like a cartoon."

"That's because it is," he laughs. "And an awesome one at that! Now you just sit down and get comfortable while I get dinner ready."

With a trusting smile, she obliges and flops onto the bed, watching him as he takes soup cartons out of the bag. From the smell of it, it's good old-fashioned chicken soup. Her smile fades as he readies their dinner.

She shouldn't be doing this. Her instincts are screaming that she shouldn't allow him to get this close, to take care of her like this. Although she values her independence, deep down, a part of her misses having someone to lean on when she's overwhelmed. And as she watches the man across the room, she knows she's too deep in this to push him away now.

"Screw instinct," she whispers fiercely.

He looks up sharply. "What was that?"

"Nothing," she answers with a smile. "What's this movie about anyway?"

He grins, and for the rest of the night, she lets him in. They cuddle on the bed and eat the soup he brought, and she manages to keep it down for half the movie. When her stomach finally objects and she's forced to rush to the bathroom, he's right on her heels, holding back her hair. Exhausted, she leans her forehead against the cool porcelain, and he hands her a wet washcloth to wipe her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she says pathetically, dabbing at her mouth.

He shrugs her off. "It's no big deal. I always used to take care of Ellie when she got sick."

"Yeah," she nods, "until Captain Awes . . ." She closes her eyes and trails off, too tired to continue the thought.

"Come on. Let's get you off the bathroom floor," he says, and she feels his sturdy arms wrap around her, hoisting her to her feet.

"But I want to go to sleep," she groans.

He lets out a strained laugh as they make their way into the main room. "Yeah, but how 'bout you sleep on the bed and not on the floor, okay?"

Smacking her lips, she realizes how disgusting her tongue tastes, how disgusting she feels in general.

"Wait," she says, and they stop shuffling. "I think I should brush my teeth."

Making more of an effort to support her own weight, she leans against the sink. Chuck fumbles through her cabinet, but eventually hands her a toothbrush with an abundant amount of cinnamon toothpaste on it. When she's done, she licks her lips, enjoying the taste of the toothpaste still in her mouth.

He wraps an arm around her back, and they make their way back to the main room. Before she can collapse onto the bed, Chuck wraps a thick, warm blanket around her shoulders.

"Okay, go," he says in a low voice, releasing her and guiding her gently onto the soft, inviting mattress.

He throws another blanket on top of her, and she snuggles into it, letting out a low moan as he leaves her side.

"Come back," she urges.

"Relax," he assures her, and a minute later, he returns carrying a waste basket lined with a plastic bag. He sets it on the floor next to her side of the bed and explains, "In case you get sick again."

She smiles at his thoughtfulness, the smile growing as she feels the opposite side of the bed sink with his weight and his arm slide across her waist.

"You feeling any better?" he mutters.

She nods. "But my stomach's still a little upset."

For a moment, a tremendous cold settles around her as he takes his arm away to reach for something on the table on his side of the bed. The cold dissipates when he nestles back against her, holding a bottle of Ginger Ale out to her. She takes it gratefully, the cool liquid sliding down her throat and settling comfortably into her stomach.

She swallows and says, "Thanks."

"No problem. Finish the movie now?"

Smiling, she nods. And even though this flu makes her feel like she could sleep for three days straight, she manages to stay awake through the rest of the movie. As the credits roll, she turns her head to look at the man lying beside her.

"Did you pick this movie for a reason?"

"What? It's a cartoon," he protests, and she can tell by the tone of his voice that he's nervous.

"Yeah," she says as she swivels to fully face Chuck, "but you can make your point with a cartoon."

He stares at her, his lips tight, and she stares right back until he gives ground. "Fine," he admits, and when she smiles in victory, he adds, "Maybe."

Her smile softens, and she sighs, coming a bit closer before saying, "They're you and me. Aren't they?"

He looks at her, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. "Who?" he asks in an attempt to evade the situation.

But there's no way she's going to let him off the hook that easily. "Eve and Wall-E," she tells him. "They're you and me."

A strained smile on her face, he nods and turns his gaze away. "If they can save the day and still be together, why . . . why can't we?" His voice is soft, almost pleading.

She brushes a hand against his forehead. Finding that she can come up with no argument, she defensively tells herself it's because she can't stand to see him crushed, to watch his crestfallen face as she hands him back his heart. But there's a part of her that knows she's lying.

"Maybe someday," she whispers, surprised at the truth behind her statement.

That's good enough for him. He rewards her honesty with one of his trademark smiles, and she decides that maybe she'll let him take care of her more often.

Despite her protestations, he stays with her for the next few days, looking after her every need. She's not a demanding patient, and they spend most of the time watching movies or playing board games. On the sixth day, she finally feels better, but he insists on staying the night.

"Just to make sure," he says, and her heart lights up.

Only she wakes up the next day to find him sleeping like a log. She shakes him awake so he can get ready for work, but he doesn't even open his eyes when he groans in protest. Placing a hand on his forehead, she's shocked by how hot it feels. And that's when she realizes he's come down with what she's had for the past week.

"Immune system of an ox, huh?" she jokes quietly to herself.

Chuck's not actually too bent up about having the flu. She wants to take one last sick day from the Double O, but he won't let her, assuring her that he'll be fine for a few hours by himself. She gives him a goodbye kiss on the forehead, her lips cool against his too-warm skin, and, to make up for her guilt at leaving him alone all day, she picks up a handful of gaming and entertainment magazines from the Large Mart on her way home.

She also drops by Chuck's apartment, where she and Ellie spend fifteen minutes trying to detangle his Wii from the rest of his gaming systems. Ellie's concern for her brother is evident, but so is her delight when Sarah mentions the situation, especially the part where Chuck will be staying with her for the next few days. Ellie's smile grows even wider when the two women pack a duffel bag with a few sets of his clothes. On her way out the door, she tosses the first few seasons of "Battlestar Galactica" into the bag as an afterthought.

Chuck's ecstatic when he sees that she's retrieved his Wii, and they spend the rest of the evening playing video games, their gaming only interrupted by Chuck's trips to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

The funny thing is that neither of them mind being cooped up in her tiny little hotel room. They haven't had a mission in a week, and, with Chuck out of commission, Sarah predicts another mission-free one.

Yep. A mission-free, science fiction-filled week.

A year ago the thought alone would have made her go stir crazy. But right now, it feels like exactly what the doctor ordered. They start the first season of "Battlestar Galactica" the night she comes home with his bag, and by the third day, she's so sucked into it that she's skipping her lunch breaks in order to leave work early and get home faster, just to see what's next for the "BSG" gang. She'd never admit it aloud that he's turned her into a fan, but Chuck brings it into the open when he casually mentions next year's ComicCon.

She had gone this past year for a number of reasons – to see what it was all about, to make him happy, but mostly just to spend time with him. A few days without covers, without missions. And she knows she'll be right by his side again next year, only this time because she'll actually want to take part in the nerd-fest that is ComicCon.

Last year, Morgan had tried to convince her to wear the Princess Leia costume from the previous Halloween. Backed up by Ellie, she had refused to don it in front of a crowd that size, and the girls and Devon had gone to "the Con" in plain clothes. But it's when she leaves open the possibility of her attending "the Con" in a costume next year that he drops a bomb on her – "Battlestar" is beginning the end of its final season this coming January.

She lets out an involuntary gasp.

He laughs and promises to get her caught up on the first three and a half seasons before then. She has to smile at that. Because even though he's the one who's sick, he's still taking care of her.

Murmuring her thanks, she grabs him another Ginger Ale before settling next to him on the bed for another round of episodes. Undaunted by germs, they snuggle.

And for the first time, she's afraid that this isn't real, that they'll return to the outside world in a few days, healthy again but forced to forget about this time together. She holds him tighter, not sure she'll be able to handle that.

The sickness gives her proximity; the living situation gives her privacy. They can converse without fear of being overheard here, though that doesn't stop her from waking up in the middle of the night to whisper to him. It's easier to talk in the night, and he's a good listener. They don't have to worry about shoring up their cover here, though that doesn't stop her from taking every opportunity to touch him. She feels his forehead for fever, she runs her hands through his hair, she even takes so much care wrapping a blanket around him that once, with a laugh, he accuses her of feeling him up.

Even after the initial onslaught of symptoms, Chuck continues to stay at her place. When he worries that he's giving her too much trouble, she merely smiles, placing her hand on his shoulder and kissing his temple.

Because if he spent almost a week looking after her, then the least she can do is help him recover from the sickness she passed on to him.

Give and take.

That's what relationships are about, right?


	2. The Hospital

A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews of the first chapter, and rest assured that there is a direction to this whole story. :)

I can't remember if I put a disclaimer on the first chapter, so it's going here: I don't own "Chuck."

* * *

_I felt every ounce of me screaming out,  
But the sound was trapped deep in me._

"Shit!"

The curse is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and the blood's running down her hand and onto the bagel she's holding before she can do much more than register the pain.

Chuck looks up sharply at her sudden outburst, and his gag reflex kicks into full drive when he sees the red liquid covering her hand.

"Oh, geeze," he mutters, squirming. "Is that blood?"

Even through the pain, she manages to find his aversion to blood amusing, and she rolls her eyes. "Yes, it's blood. Turn around while I wash it off."

He complies readily, and, smiling despite the situation, she moves to the sink and washes her wound. Her hand is throbbing, the blood coursing swiftly through her veins, and she lets out a tiny gasp as the water rushes against the open gash.

Curious, he asks, "How'd you do that anyways?"

"I was trying to cut this damn bagel," she explains, her lips stretched thin, as she wraps a profuse amount of paper towels around her palm.

He snorts, and she's sure if she could see him he'd have a smirk on his face.

"Aren't spies supposed to be good with knives?" he teases.

Tossing the bagel into the garbage and wiping up the blood on the counter, she smiles slyly. "We're especially good when we have a specific target in mind."

Chuck gulps audibly and clears his throat. "Is there anything I can do?"

She pauses, surveying the damage. The counter's clean, but the blood's already beginning to soak through her impromptu bandage. Her hesitation is long enough to pique his interest.

"Is it safe to look now?" he asks, but turns around before she can answer.

Sarah looks up at him, taken aback by the concern in his eyes. She swallows, scared by the two options that appear in her mind. The first: she can allow Chuck to take care of her and drive her to the ER to get stitches. The second: she can sacrifice her hand to save her heart, drive herself to the hospital to keep herself as far away from Chuck as possible.

"Sarah?"

His voice pulls her out of her distraction.

Exhaling shakily, she tells him, "I'm fine. I just need to make a quick trip to the hospital, that's all."

"Are you kidding me?" he chuckles lightly. "You cannot drive yourself to the hospital. Not with that hand. Besides, do you want to get blood in your precious car?"

She turns her head, protesting weakly, "You have work."

He doesn't answer, and when she turns back to look at him, he has one of his I-know-you're-going-to-agree-with-me smiles on his face.

Biting back a smile, she huffs, "Fine."

They head into the living room, but he doubles back, saying, "Wait. Those paper towels are almost soaked through. Let me get you something heavier."

He disappears down the hall and returns with a terry-cloth towel to wrap around her palm, and when he confidently tells her to apply pressure, she can visualize him years down the road, kissing scraped knees and putting band-aids on invisible booboos.

They head out the door, Sarah's head filled with forbidden possibilities.

* * *

Chuck tries to go back into the ER with her, but he's stopped by an unreceptive nurse who thrusts a clipboard into his hands and points him back toward the waiting room.

His face falls at the prospect of filling out paperwork, and Sarah quirks a half-smile as she follows a doctor. Thank goodness he _doesn't_ go into the exam room with her, because she's sure he won't be able to handle the needles and the blood and the . . . general hospital _gore_ of it all.

But she's out soon enough, her palm stitched and bandaged up. Back in the waiting room, she looks around expectantly for Chuck.

"Sarah!"

She spins around to see Ellie, in her scrubs, walking toward her.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Great," Sarah replies, somewhat puzzled. "Where's Chuck?"

"Oh, he ran to grab some food, but he should be back in a couple of minutes. He called me when you got here, so I just popped down for a few minutes. How's your hand?"

She holds it up for the doctor to inspect it. "Yeah, it's fine. A lot better."

Ellie, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, nods her approval. Her expression brightens. "Good. But be more careful next time, okay? No more daydreaming while cutting bagels."

Sarah chuckles, her face reddening the slightest bit. Ellie's probably the one person in the world in whom she can confide, but before she gathers the courage to open her mouth, the moment passes.

"But hey!" Ellie exclaims. "There's Chuck."

Sarah turns, a smile spreading across her face as she sees him crossing the crowded waiting room.

"I have to get going," Ellie says, giving her a quick squeeze. "But I'll talk to you later tonight, all right?"

"Sure."

Ellie walks away, stopping to greet her brother, and Chuck steps up to her, a smile on his face and a shopping bag swinging from his hand.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey," she smiles.

"How's your hand?"

He's close to her now, their bodies almost pressing up against each other.

"Fine," she murmurs, holding up her palm for him to look at.

He takes her hand gently, fiddling with the bandages. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you."

Smiling, she reaches a hand behind his neck to pull him closer. "I don't think you would have liked it anyways."

"No?"

"No," she replies, her voice low. She realizes that the tone of their voices and their proximity are leading them into dangerous territory, but there's something about his smell, about the way he inclines his head that makes her want to live for the moment. "Blood. Needles. Not really your thing."

He chuckles lightly. "I still should have been with you."

Touched, she can see the regret in his eyes, so she changes the subject, asking playfully, "Whatcha got there?"

An eyebrow shoots up. "Huh?"

"In the bag. Whatcha got?"

Grinning, he takes her good hand and leads her out of the hospital. "Just a few things I picked up at the gift store."

She tries to sneak a peak into the bag, but he's too quick for her, pulling it out of her grasp with a laugh.

"Well, I thought since we may not be doing mission things for a while –"

"Yeah, if you can keep that brain of yours from flashing on anything," she laughs.

He acts hurt, causing her to giggle, and responds, "Geeze, you try to do something nice for a girl and she wants the world!"

Sarah shoves him with her shoulder, but they're connected, her good hand still laced with his, and the momentum causes her to fall towards him just as he's recovering. They meet in the middle, their shoulders bumping together again. She stumbles, regaining her footing only when he holds out an arm to steady her.

Laughing, he says, "Fine. Fine." He grumbles under his breath as he pulls out a few magazines from the bag. "I picked you up some reading material in case you get bored. They didn't have a very good selection, though, so it occurs to me that you may want to borrow some of my books."

He looks at her expectantly, and she knows that if he pulls that puppy dog look, she's going to agree to read his top ten science fiction favorites. He's been asking for a while now, just hasn't brought out the look yet. He holds off now, too, and she's able to resist. Until his eyebrows creep upwards, and his lips push outwards, and his eyes widen.

No, no, no. She can resist this.

Then he frowns, his lips quivering, his brown eyes as large as saucers, and she's gone.

She rolls her eyes and turns her gaze back to the sidewalk. "Fine, but start me out with something easy. One that's really good, too."

He lets out a victory whoop as he drops the magazines back into the bag. "Yes! And what are you talking about? They're all amazing!"

"Clearly," she says dryly, unable to stop a smile from growing on her lips.

Chuck pulls out a box of Mike 'n' Ike and holds it in front of her.

Letting out a small shriek, she stops walking and turns to him. Of course he'd somehow know to get her favorite candy, and she hasn't had them in so long.

"How'd you know?"

He shrugs modestly. "You mentioned it before."

Yeah, she did mention it once – over three months ago during an in-depth conversation with him and Morgan about their favorite movie snacks.

Impulsively, she leans forward, her lips brushing over his.

What's only supposed to be a thank-you peck on the lips turns into much more, and she comes away from the encounter dizzy with emotion. If a simple three second, closed-mouth kiss can have that effect on her, she can only imagine what real, honest-to-goodness, I-want-you kind of kissing would feel like.

From the look in his eyes, she's caught him off guard. She caught herself off guard. They stand there, his arms around her back, her good hand on the side of his face, stunned.

"Thank you," she manages to say, though her voice is unsteady.

His hopeful gaze shoots up to meet hers.

"For . . . everything," she says in a weak attempt at clarification.

They make the rest of the walk to the car in silence. Chuck is tense behind the wheel, glancing over every once in a while at her hand.

She asks him to drive her home, even though her Porsche is at his place. Because, although she knows it will be awkward tomorrow morning when she goes to head to work and her car's not there, she can't spend one more minute in his company than she needs to. Not when there's a look in his eye that tells her exactly how happy he'd be to take care of her for the rest of their lives.

After a few minutes of not speaking, he clears his throat and asks, "Does it hurt?"

She lifts her hand, studying the bandages, and shrugs. "Eh, they gave me some pain medicine."

"But did it hurt?" he presses, his lips tightening.

Realizing what he's fishing for, she takes a deep breath. "I've had worse," she answers simply.

He nods, clearly unsatisfied.

Her heart racing, she stares out the window. The hum of the engine pounds in her ears, making the silence seem even louder. Without looking at him, she whispers, "It was my third assignment." She notices him tense up but acts like she hasn't. "In Spain. We were compromised, our covers blown. I was captured, but not before my partner could get away."

Chuck grimaces. "You were tortured?" he ventures warily.

She nods, memories of that day flooding her mind. He tenses up even more, and she knows he's fighting his instincts to reach out to her. She pushes past the helpless feeling and says, "It was seven weeks before I recovered, and another month before Graham would give me another assignment."

Chuck's grip on the steering wheel tightens. He bites his lips, looking as if he wants to say a thousand things to comfort her. But instead he asks, "And your partner?"

A dry chuckle escapes her lips. "He escaped with barley a scratch, at least physically." She glances down at her lap, adding in a barely audible voice, "We were split up."

When she realizes that he's not driving back to her hotel, she questions him.

His voice strained, Chuck says, "I don't think you should be by yourself."

"Because of my hand?" she asks a little too sharply. "I can take care of myself, you know." Her voice is snippy, and her temper's close to the breaking point.

"I know," he concedes, "But Ellie's expecting you in a few hours anyway. . . . And you shouldn't have to be alone."

She wants to break, to scream and rage. _Don't you get it?_ she wants to shout at him. _If I go home with you now, the next time I get hurt, I'll expect you to be right there waiting for me, ready to kiss my wounds and make everything better_.

Or maybe she wants to just crumple up and cry. Either way, he makes her weak by cutting her off from the solitude, the secrecy she craves. She stares at him, her chest heaving, and attempts to calm her breathing. Because he deserves more than an angry backlash from an emotionally-stunted government agent.

Her anger dissipated, she's able to see the intentions behind his concern.

The fact that he cares so much makes her melt.

She rests her uninjured hand on his arm. In a soft, controlled voice, she tells him, "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

He relaxes a bit.

"You're always so good to me," she continues. She doesn't have the courage to add, _I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you_.

His gaze flickers over for a split second, and the beginnings of a smile form on his face. The rest of the ride is quiet, but a comfortable kind of quiet. They reach his apartment soon enough, and they have a night full of Ellie's good cooking, and Devon's good company, and even Morgan's good humor to look forward to. As he walks swiftly across the courtyard, she hangs back a bit, torn between two lives.

Noticing that she's not by his side, he swivels around and holds out a hand, a disarming grin on his face. She walks toward him, smiling as their hands connect, and they walk inside together.

Chuck had accused her of wanting the world, but that's not quite right.

The truth is she just wants him.


	3. The Massage

A/N: Continuing thanks to **Go-Chuck-Go** and **BillatWork** for their comments and suggestions.

Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!

_

* * *

All I've wanted just sped right past me,  
But I was rooted fast to the Earth._

Exhausted, Sarah collapses onto Chuck's bed face first.

Chuckling from somewhere off to her right, he teases, "You're a superspy. Aren't you supposed to be all fit and in shape?"

She groans, repositioning the pillow beneath her head. "Yeah, well, we don't generally spend the day after a mission with our super-active friends."

"Oh, come on," he says, his voice a little far away. She opens one eye to find him leaning back in his computer chair, his arms crossed behind his head. He continues casually, "Devon's pretty much the happiest person on earth now. Because he's already got Ellie to be wonderful with, and he's got me to geek out with, but now he's got you to do his crazy, outdoors adventure stuff with."

He trails off, leaving the rest of his thought unsaid. She shifts to face him, and his forlorn expression makes her want to say something about how well she fits into his life, how perfect the four of them are. But something stops her – she tells herself it's Casey's bugs – and instead she laughs quietly and admits, "He wants to go rock climbing tomorrow."

Chuck's peal of laughter resounds throughout the room. "After a full day of mountain biking and white water rafting?" he asks, sounding incredulous. "No wonder Ellie had no problem shoving him off to you."

Smiling, she rolls onto her side to face him, ready to protest. But he's staring at her with an adorable grin on his face, and her arguments suddenly get much weaker. "Ellie got called in to the hospital this morning, and it's not my fault you're not adventurous enough to come with us."

_And it's not my fault I want to impress you by fitting in with your family_.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry if spending the day with you and Awesome and watching you be ridiculously athletic together is not exactly my idea of fun," he jokes as he sits down next to her on the bed.

"Heh, you just don't want to be sore. Your video gaming muscles can't handle it." She gives him a little push on the shoulder.

"Maybe," he confesses with a good-natured smile, "but if I had gone and I were sore, do you really think I'd let on?"

She laughs out loud. "Do you really think you'd be able to hide that from me?" She says it in a playful voice, because if he suspected how well she really knows him, how well she can read his moods and feelings, the thought would freak him out.

Catching on to her lighthearted tone, he says, "I happen to be able to put on an excellent show of bravado and masculinity."

She smiles, easing into the banter. "Yeah, because you're such a great actor."

"Hey," he responds with mock hurt, "whose acting skills saved our skins during the mission last night?"

She raises an eyebrow at him, but admits, "Those would be yours."

"Mmm-hmm. That's right."

The smug look on his face right now is enough to make her forget about the pain in her shoulders, the ache in her lower back, the burn in her legs.

"But I wouldn't exactly call a routine reconnaissance mission 'saving our skins.' And besides, I helped. You can't play a married couple by yourself, you know."

"Fine," he shrugs. "Suit yourself. Just semantics, anyway."

She closes her eyes and shifts on top of the covers, murmuring at the soreness in her muscles as she does so. Chuck clears his throat nervously. She opens one eye to peer at him.

"Uh, do you, um, maybe want me to . . .?" He asks nervously.

Smiling, she questions, "What?"

He takes a deep breath, and his voice is calmer and surer when he says, "I can give you a massage. . . . I mean, if you want me to."

Again, she quirks an eyebrow at him, this time amazed at finding out a part of him she never knew existed. But after spending over a year in his company, she should know that he's not as easy to read as he seems to be at first glance.

"Ellie took a massage class during her early med school days. She taught me a bit, convinced that knowledge of this kind would help me exponentially on the relationship front." His gaze drops as he adds in a mumble, "That was when I was with Jill."

Stunned, Sarah simply says, "Will you . . . .?" and glances at her back. Because she doesn't really want to hear about his ex-girlfriend. She can't stand the thought of that woman breaking his heart and sending him into a five-year funk.

"Sure," he nods. "Where's it hurt?"

Rolling onto her stomach, she groans, settles her head on the pillow, and breathes, "Everywhere."

He doesn't respond, and she can imagine his eyes widening as he realizes that she's kind of implicitly given him permission to touch her anywhere he likes. When she peeks at him, he clears his throat again and repositions himself a little bit closer to her.

"Right," he says, his voice a little higher than normal, and sets about stretching his fingers. "I'll just start at the top then," he mumbles, more to himself than to her.

His hands are warm on her back, and when he touches her, she has the irrational urge to pull off her shirt, or better yet, to have him take it off for her, if just to get rid of the barriers between their bodies. He kneads his fingers gently into the muscles around and beneath her neck, and she can't stop the satisfied sigh that escapes from her lips. As she lets her body go loose, she realizes just how tense she is every single day of her life.

The thought saddens her, but it also makes her more determined to have a few hours with him tonight. So she relaxes her body even more, giving into his touch. His delicate fingers skip an inch or so down her back, finding a knot above her right shoulder blade. He massages more leisurely when he realizes this, his hands working at the knot.

He reaches a particularly sensitive spot, setting the nerve endings in her shoulder on fire.

"Oh, my _God_," she moans, needing to clutch the pillow beneath her head to keep from screaming.

He chuckles softly, and she can practically see the ridiculous grin on his face.

"Why did you not tell me about this talent before?" she exhales.

"Well, Miss Walker," he says smoothly, "I couldn't give away all my secrets all at once. A man likes to be mysterious, you know."

She laughs, but his hands hit a tender spot just as she does so, and the combination makes her go breathless for a second. It's a feeling she's had to get used to during the past year with him. Who would have thought a lanky, curly-haired computer nerd could make a hardened, detached CIA agent breathless time and again?

"Seriously, Chuck," she says, "you could do this for a living." And she doesn't want to think about whether she means massage therapy in general or that he can certainly touch her for the rest of his life.

His only response is to knead her shoulder a little harder, and she gets that feeling again, the one where she wants to take away the obstacles between them. One hand continues to massage the area near her spine while his other slides toward the outside of her ribcage. His fingers get caught on the folds of her t-shirt, but it doesn't interfere with the pleasure of the movement.

She lets out another low groan, letting herself sink further into the heaven that is this moment.

It brings her one step closer to making a saucy comment like, "If this were a real massage, my shirt wouldn't be in the way."

But one remark like that and there's no going back. And she can't have that. She needs the distance that the asset-handler boundary brings. She needs it because it's the only thing keeping her sane, keeping her safe, right now.

This more than anything, more than Casey's bugs, prevents her from speaking up and giving him even an inkling of how she feels.

Even so, she's so drained from the day's activities that there's no way she'll make it all the way back to her hotel room. His fingers plant themselves firmly on her lower back as his thumbs slide lightly over the skin between the dirty hem of her t-shirt and the folded-over waist of her sport shorts. The sensation sends a shiver up her spine, and she involuntarily lets out a shuddery breath. She recalls a time when she could hide the effect he had on her.

"Do you think I can stay here tonight?"

The words escape her mouth before she even thinks to stop them, and she feels as if she's hovering on a precipice while awaiting his answer. His thumbs pause in their exploration of her back, hovering just above her hipbones.

"Uh . . . sure," he answers, but his voice cracks a bit when he says it.

"I'm just so exhausted," she clarifies, hoping he doesn't see the flush that's certainly risen to her cheeks.

He chuckles lightly as his hands resume their torturous exploration of her back. "Good thing we don't have work tomorrow then."

The pronoun makes her heart skip a beat.

_We_.

Even in a strictly professional sense, it sounds good coming from his lips. But a dull ache worms its way into her heart as she realizes what he means. She doesn't have work because he doesn't have work. And if he has the day off, then she doesn't have to do surveillance on the Buy More.

He meant nothing when he said it, but still . . .

Realizing she hasn't responded, she says, "Yeah, good except for the fact that Awesome wants a rock climbing buddy tomorrow."

"I'm sure we can think of something to get you out of it."

There. There's the 'we' she wants.

Sarah smiles into the pillow, not trusting herself to look at him for fear of giving herself away. She asks instead, "So I can stay?"

"Mm-hmm," he murmurs. "On one condition."

"What's that?" She turns her head to glance at him.

"You have to take a shower." He breaks into a wicked smile. "Because you kind of smell."

She laughs and launches the pillow at him, satisfied when it smacks him square in the face.

* * *

Sarah emerges into the hallway, clad in a pair of flannel PJ bottoms of Chuck's and one of his old Stanford t-shirts, her hair still damp from the shower. Halfway to the living room, she hears the familiar voices of Chuck, Devon, and Ellie. She pauses at the edge of the hall and leans her head against the wall to listen, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she does so.

As Chuck is stretched out on the couch with his back towards her, she's safely out of his sight. Devon, shirtless again, lounges upside down in the armchair, his bare feet hanging over the back, while his fiancé bustles around obliviously in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

As unconventional and somewhat ridiculous as these people are, they're her family now. But the truth is she hasn't had a normal life in so long that she doesn't really remember what a conventional family should be like. And looking at the Bartowskis right now, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Soon enough, though, her hiding place is discovered when Ellie comes out of the kitchen.

"Sarah!" she greets happily.

Chuck turns his head to look at her, a grin on his face, and holds his hand out to her.

"Hey, Ellie," she says as she walks shyly into the living room, a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

"Sarah!" Devon greets enthusiastically. "What's up?"

She laughs and slaps him an upside-down high-five before situating herself on the couch between Chuck's knees. He snakes his arms around her, and she relaxes into a comfortable position against him.

"You stole my clothes," he accuses softly, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

"Mm-hmm," she responds with a chuckle.

"So, Chuck," Ellie says, taking a seat in an armchair, "what are you and Sarah up to tonight?"

"Hmm, I don't know," he says. "Devon pretty much wore her out today. I don't think she's up for much of anything." He nudges her gently. "Isn't that right, sweetie?"

Sarah smiles. "Yeah, I'm pretty exhausted." She turns her head to glance at Chuck out of the corner of her eye. "I was just planning on catching up on my reading. This lug's got me reading his top ten favorite science fiction books."

Ellie covers her eyes in mock horror. "Oh, no! Please tell me he didn't get to you."

"Of course I did," Chuck interjects with a laugh. "I got to her with my amazing charm."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry," Ellie says with a smile. "First spending the day with Devon, and then coming home to my supremely nerdy brother."

Feigning indignation, Chuck sticks his tongue out at his older sister while the rest of them share a laugh.

"Life with me isn't so bad, is it, Sarah?" he asks, his face buried in her neck.

Unprepared for the sensations brought on by his closeness, she forces a deep breath in and out of her lungs and hugs him a little tighter as she answers, "You'd be surprised."

His head shoots up. "At how bad it is?"

She laughs. "No, how _good_."

Satisfied with that answer, Chuck resumes his previous position, his curls tickling her cheek. Sarah's contented gaze meets Ellie's, and the two share a quiet, sisterly moment. It's only in this instant, when she sees the reflection in the brunette's eyes, that Sarah recognizes how deeply she's fallen. Ellie cares so sincerely for her brother, only wanting him to happy, and there's a thread of silent communication that passes between them.

It's approval, Sarah realizes with relief.

Approval, because Ellie would be deliriously happy if Chuck chose to spend the rest of his life with the blond enigma snuggled against him right now.

She doesn't know that Sarah needs him even more than he needs her. She doesn't see that Sarah's torn between her duty to protect Chuck the asset and her desire to love Chuck the man.

"You okay?" Chuck asks quietly, shaking her from her thoughts, and she hopes that maybe one day she won't have to choose between protection and love.

She nods. "Yeah, sorry. I must have spaced for a minute."

Ellie gets up and slaps Devon on the knee.

"Come on, babe," she says. "Let's leave these two alone."

Devon reaches up a hand and responds lazily, "Sure, babe. Help me up?"

She rolls her eyes and helps him to his feet. He grabs her hand as they walk out of the room but stops and spins just before they get into the hallway.

"Sarah," he says emphatically, pointing at her. She swivels her head to get as good a look at him as she can. "Rock climbing tomorrow. You in?"

She takes a deep breath, rolling over the decision in her mind.

"Oh, you know what, Devon?" Chuck interrupts, saving her from answering. He tilts his head to look upside down at Awesome. "Sarah kind of promised me she'd go shopping with me tomorrow."

Devon makes a disappointed face as Ellie's expression turns gleeful.

Chuck continues, "Yeah, I know, buddy, but you know how Ellie doesn't like me to go clothes shopping without a woman there to help me. Apparently I have very nerdy taste in clothes, poor matching ability and all." He ends with an exaggerated shrug, and Sarah has to stifle a chuckle.

"It's no problem. You kids have fun. Rain check, though?"

She nods. "Definitely."

"Great. 'Night, guys."

A chorus of "Good nights" follows before Ellie and Awesome drift off in the direction of their bedroom.

Sarah leans back against Chuck's chest. "Thank you for that," she whispers.

He shrugs. "For what?"

She angles her head, her gaze fixated on the ceiling, and giggles, "For saving me." Realizing what she's said, she adds quickly, "From another one of Awesome's crazy outings."

He doesn't reply right away, and she suspects he's dwelling on the words that had unintentionally slipped out of her mouth.

_For saving me_.

Isn't she the one who's supposed to be doing the saving?

"You're welcome."

And as he whispers it into her hair, she realizes that she could stay here forever like this, spending each night just relaxing in his arms, no worries, no lies.

"Well," Chuck continues, "do you want to watch a movie or something?"

She mulls it over. "Mmm . . . not tonight. Hand me my book, though?"

She gestures to the table, and he reaches behind him to grab it.

He holds the book out in front of her. "Here you go."

"Thanks." She readjusts her position, leaning her forearms on his legs as she gets more comfortable, and opens _The Fellowship of the Ring_ to where she left off. "You comfy?" she asks.

"Couldn't be better."

* * *

Her eyes start to droop, and she feels him gently shake her back to full consciousness.

"Ready to get to bed?" he asks, the implications of his phrasing almost too much for her fuzzy mind.

"Yep," she tells him. "Let's go."

She swivels slightly on the couch, just in time to see a smirk form on his face.

"Are you all right to walk to my room or are you still too sore?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him, not sure why he's asking, and he takes the opportunity to hoist her into his embrace as he rises from the couch. He's surprisingly strong, his arms surprisingly sturdy. When he lifts her up, her first thought is to kick her legs and scream, because she hasn't let – hasn't _allowed_ – a man to handle her like this in her entire life. She doesn't even recall a time when her father lifted her up and spun her around as a little girl. But she stops herself, because she only laughs this hard when she's with him, and that has to be worth something, right?

She kicks her feet a little, feeling as happy as a little kid, and puts her arms around his neck as they jaunt down the hallway. He turns into his bedroom and walks up to the bed.

"You're gonna have to help me with the covers there," he says, his voice somewhat strained as he holds her down just low enough for her to reach the bedspread.

She folds it back, and he places her lightly onto the bed. He brings his arms out from under her and places his hands on the bed to push himself up, but she doesn't take her arms from around his neck, locking him in a position over her.

He smiles. "Sarah?"

Her expression turns sheepish. "Sorry," she whispers as she releases him.

He clears his throat and says, "I'm going to brush my teeth. Be right back."

Once Sarah takes her turn in the bathroom, she snuggles back under the covers. They've done this before, this spending the night for cover routine, but it changes each time. Each time it's less about the cover and more about wanting what they're too afraid to have. Respecting his modesty, she usually keeps a distance between them. But tonight the barriers are far blurrier than they have been in the past. So when she gets settled under the sheets and looks over at him, his expression tells her that he needs her warmth as much as she needs his.

Without a word, she nestles against him, and his arms move instinctively around her. From her position, she can see most of the room – the computer desk, the book collection, the guitar on the chair, the movie and comic book posters hanging on the walls.

"I'm going to miss this," she confesses in a whisper.

Chuck looks questioningly at her.

"When we move, I mean," she explains.

But he still gives her that look that seems to say, "But we'll be together. Isn't that enough?"

She smiles. "I've just gotten used to it."

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd offer to decorate our new bedroom exactly like this one, but I have a feeling you'd lose some cred with Ellie and Morgan."

"'Cred'?" she chuckles.

"Yeah, they think you're a good influence over me."

"Am I?"

"Well, I dunno," he teases. "I think you lost some cred tonight when you told Ellie and Awesome that I'd convinced you to read my favorite books."

She traces her finger down his chest, skillfully avoiding his gaze. "I don't care about cred."

He sighs. "I know." As her gaze meets her, he asks, "But do you really want all my stuff cluttering our room?" He swallows, and even in the dark she can tell he's nervous.

"What is it?" she asks.

"This is just for cover, right? So are we even going to be sleeping in the same bedroom?"

Truthfully, she hadn't thought of that, hadn't thought of his comfort when she had decided to ask him to move in with her. She had only thought of keeping him safe. And if she had thought of sleeping in his arms each night, of waking up with his scent on her pillow each morning, then what of it? She can't have him, so she can at least have that.

"Well, what are you comfortable with, Chuck?"

"I just want you to be comfortable."

She smiles, because it's so typical of him.

Snuggling even tighter against him, she questions, "Do you think I'm comfortable right now?"

He runs one hand up and down her back. "I hope so."

She laughs softly into his chest. "Well, I am."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Why don't we decorate the bedroom together?"

"Okay."

She picks up her head to look at him. "But I want you to keep as much stuff as you want."

He grins. "Because you love it all, right?"

"Yeah," she says, returning his smile, "because I love it all."

And she does love everything, but most of all him.


	4. The Funeral

A/N: As always, many thanks to **Go-Chuck-Go** and **BillatWork** for their excellent help!

This past week has been super busy for me (finals and family - ack!), so I apologize for not having time to reply to all the wonderful reviews from the last chapter. But I wanted to thank everyone who read and reviewed chapter 3!

_

* * *

I could be stuck here for a thousand years  
Without your arms to drag me out._

She's at the Orange Orange when she gets the call. Unfortunately, Chuck's on his lunch break, and he's standing not four feet away when the news is broken. Her face almost crumples as she hears it, but the line goes dead, the dial tone ringing harshly in her ear, and she's able to school her face into something resembling composure by the time she turns back around.

Except it's Chuck, and he notices everything, down to a tiny change in the glimmer of her eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asks, the smile from two minutes ago wiped from his face.

The concern in his voice almost makes her confess.

But there are a thousand reasons she shouldn't.

"Nothing," she says, plastering on a small smile.

He nods but is obviously unconvinced.

"But I think I'm going to close up early today," Sarah tells him, "take the rest of the day off."

Clearing his throat, he asks, "Is it a . . . you-know, situation?" He surreptitiously indicates his head.

"No, nothing like that," she says as she takes off her apron and walks around the counter.

"Well, at least let me take you home."

She shakes her head. "No, I don't want you to leave work when you don't have to. But thanks." There's no way he can deny the logic of that, not after he skips so much work going after bad guys with her. She tries to reassure him with a swift kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, all right?"

Chuck nods again, but still seems reluctant to leave.

"I'm fine. I promise." She smiles, giving him a little push on the chest. "Now go before I get angry."

Backing towards the door, he laughs lightly and teases, "Ooh, I wouldn't want to see you angry."

She slaps him on the shoulder and watches as he leaves the yogurt shop and makes his way across the plaza to the Buy More. After politely kicking the few customers that are there out of the store, Sarah turns the sign on the door to 'Closed.' Her heart heavier than it's been in months, she leans her forehead against the glass.

* * *

Sarah folds another shirt and throws it into the duffel bag on the bed. Her brow furrows as she goes about packing in a futile attempt to stave off thinking.

As she walks toward the closet, her eye catches on a photograph of her and Chuck from Thanksgiving, only a week ago. Unlike last year's debacle, there was no returning nemesis and ex-boyfriend to drive a wedge between them.

The photograph is only one of many she's set up around the new apartment, trying to give it a homey feel. She hasn't lived anywhere permanent, let alone with someone she's loved, in over a decade, and even though this set-up is primarily for Chuck's safety, it's her first real home in almost a decade.

Chuck's taken the move well, probably since he was considering moving because of the Woodcomb wedding anyway. But in the past month and a half, they've settled into an easy routine, and their relationship has grown because of their proximity.

Luckily, he hasn't suspected her real motives in suggesting that they find a place together. When Casey first confessed to her about the kill order, she was appalled. She wasn't even sure she trusted him when he insisted that if he got it again, he wouldn't go through with it, he'd give her enough time to take Chuck and run. An instant after the words were out of his mouth, her mind had already formulated a plan for keeping Chuck safe, one whose initial stages basically consisted of staying by his side and hardly letting him out of her sight.

If Chuck's noticed, he doesn't seem to mind.

And it's funny that she seems to think all in terms of him now – his happiness, his safety, his love.

She breathes a sigh and falls onto the bed, but there's no way she can escape the thought of him.

It's her fault, really. She had convinced him to put up his science fiction posters on the walls and his book collection on the shelves and his ComicCon souvenirs around the room. Most everything in this room is his, and they all serve as reminders.

She's startled out of her thoughts when the front door opens and Chuck comes down the hallway, his footsteps smacking against the hardwood floor.

"Sarah?" he calls.

She looks up as he appears in the doorway.

"What's going on?" he asks, and the frown on his face is almost enough to break her heart. Sadness creeps into his eyes, and he starts to shake his head. "No. You're not . . . are you?"

He indicates the bag on the bed.

Standing up, she dries her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans.

"What?"

Chuck swallows and asks with difficulty, "Are you leaving?"

"What? No. Of course not." To avoid his penetrating gaze, she resumes packing.

"Then where are you going?"

Poised over an open dresser drawer, she closes her eyes. "I need to go away for a few days."

As she says it, a pain in her heart reminds her that she's breaking her promise to herself, the promise to protect _him_. How can she do that if she's leaving him, even for only two days?

"But why?"

Looking in the mirror, Sarah lets out a sigh. He never knows when to let up, but hadn't she expected this? Hadn't she been prepared? Isn't this exactly what she wants anyway? She glances over at the bag near his closet, the one she packed first, the one filled with _his_ clothes. Did she ever even have the intention of leaving him behind? As much as she'd like to keep him separate from her past, she can't bear the thought of going through this alone.

Or is it that she can't bear the thought of his reaction if he ever found out about her decision to go through it alone?

"Here's the deal," she says, turning to him, and she can tell by his expression that her no-nonsense tone is getting through to him. "Everything you see while we're gone, everything you hear, you forget it all when we get back, okay? You won't ever talk about any of it. Do you understand?"

He nods.

"Good."

The silence hangs thickly between them before he jams his hands into his pockets and asks, "What should I pack?"

Discomfited, she glances down at the carpet. "I already packed for you." She indicates the duffel near the closet. "Just get your warmest coat, okay?"

Obviously confused about her indecisiveness, Chuck takes a deep breath, locates his coat at the far end of the closet, and sets it on the bed. "Do you need any help?" he questions cautiously.

She shakes her head. "How about grabbing some food for the road, though?"

He nods and heads for the hallway. Almost to the door, he changes his mind and walks over to her. Hesitantly, he places a soft kiss on her cheek and walks out before she can object.

And Sarah's left stunned by a touch she should be used to by now.

* * *

Sarah glances over at Chuck, sleeping peacefully in the passenger's seat. Truthfully, he's amazed her. He hasn't asked where they're going, hasn't fished for information about her past, hadn't been daunted when she told him they'd have to drive all night. He's been nothing but caring, thinking only of her peace of mind.

The song wafting softly from the radio speakers comes to an end and the DJ announces that it's officially midnight. She frowns. They've been on the road for over six hours now and still have almost nine to go. Surprisingly, she doesn't feel tired at all. She's always loved to drive at night. She likes the solitude, the quiet relief, the occasional blinding lights of the other cars as they drive by. And even though he's out cold, it's enough that he's here, that she's sharing this with him.

Chuck's cell phone, lying under the console, springs to life with a Spoon song she recognizes but can't name.

The sound awakens Chuck, and he sleepily answers the phone. From the conversation, she can tell it's Morgan. The knowledge brings a small smile to her lips. Yes, he's strange, but he's also kind of endearing in his own weird way. Plus, he's Chuck's best friend. That's good enough for her.

Chuck shifts uncomfortably, and his voice drops as he confesses that he doesn't quite know where they're going.

She swallows.

It's now or never.

"Oregon," she whispers to let him know to tell Morgan. And hopefully Morgan will pass the information along to Ellie, because they had stupidly forgotten to leave her a message and now it's too late to do so until tomorrow morning.

He looks over in surprise, his eyebrows so high they've almost disappeared into his hair. She gives him a nod, and he relays their destination to his friend.

Chuck yawns as he hangs up. He sits quietly, surprisingly not asking about her unexpected disclosure.

She reaches over to him, placing her hand behind his neck. She's always loved his curls, and for some illogical reason, the feeling of his hair against her fingertips has always calmed her down.

He doesn't object to the contact, so she twines her fingers into his hair and says, "My family's in Oregon." She swallows before adding almost inaudibly, "My mom died."

His gaze moves towards her, but she keeps her eyes fixated on the road.

And as much as she expects him to say something, she's grateful that he doesn't.

After a few miles of silence, he points at a road sign for a nearby rest stop and says, "Can you stop here? I have to go to the bathroom."

It's not until they're returning to the car and he maneuvers her towards the passenger's side that she realizes that taking over the driving is his own subtle way of saying, "I'm sorry, but I'm here for you."

So instead of protesting that he doesn't know where to go (because he'll just point at the GPS attached to the sunshield), she simply leans over and kisses him on the cheek, allowing her lips to brush against his skin for a second too long. Letting her muscles relax, she leans against the headrest, facing him.

There's something incredibly calming about watching him drive, listening to the gentle hum of the engine.

After a few quiet minutes, he says, "It's okay, you know. You can go to sleep."

And she doesn't want to admit that she'd rather watch him stare at the road than catch up on the sleep she's put off tonight.

He glances at her, his lips quirked into a smile. "You trust me, right?"

"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs softly, realizing just how tired she really is.

Reaching over to take her hand in his, he says softly, "You're exhausted. Get some sleep. I will get us where we need to go. I'm very good with a GPS."

Smiling, she closes her eyes and gives his hand a squeeze. She thinks she mumbles a thank-you, but she can't be sure because she's already drifting off to sleep, the leather seat warm against her cheek.

When she wakes, the first thing she notices is Chuck's calm form outlined by that foggy, stretched-out sort of light that only comes in the early morning.

Seeing that she's awake, he quietly informs her that it's quarter 'til seven. After they stop for breakfast, she heads toward the driver's seat again, but he stops her with a hand on her arm.

She opens her mouth to object, but he simply asks, "Be my navigator?" and she's gone.

As she settles back into the passenger's side with her breakfast sandwich and orange juice, she's amazed at how calming it is to relinquish control. She doesn't have to think at all, just listen and occasionally respond to his quiet comments about the weather or the scenery. He plugs in his iPod and she picks some music. It's like a comfortable, subdued road trip.

She's never been on a road trip, not even a family vacation as a kid. The fact that she gets to experience this for the first time with him means the world to her.

_He_ means the world to her.

The words are on her lips, on the tip of her tongue. She can taste how it would be to tell him that. But her throat suddenly feels arid, and she, who has stared murderers in the eye and lived to tell the tale, feels her courage plummet in the face of this man who has cast such a spell over her.

So she lets the words die, and they spend the last two hours of the trip in easy but sporadic conversation.

As Chuck pulls the car into the driveway, Sarah takes a deep breath. The house, a standard red-brick two-story, looks exactly the same. She wants to burrow into her sweatshirt (and she's sure it has nothing to do with the fact that it's actually one of his black Nerd Herd sweatshirts) and sink down into the seat. But Chuck's hand in hers reassures her, and a few minutes later, she's on the porch in front of the door, holding onto him in the cold.

Standing there, waiting for someone to open the door, they must look a lot like a normal couple, just a woman and her boyfriend coming to visit her family for the holiday. Except there's an ache inside that she can't name alerting her to the fact that they aren't normal, that this isn't a happy occasion, that Chuck's not her boyfriend even though he holds her heart.

They're greeted by a handsome, brown-haired man in his early 30s. When he greets her as "Annie," she realizes Jane wants to do this like they're a real family, a _normal_ one who gets together every couple weeks to spend time with each other instead of every couple years out of mere necessity.

In the foyer, hearing her approach, Sarah turns around to greet her sister, but stops short when she notices –

"You had a baby?"

Indeed, Jane holds an infant girl, maybe two or three months from the looks of it, against her shoulder. Light glints off her wedding ring as she moves.

"Well, don't sound so happy for me," she says dryly.

"I am, I am," Sarah assures her, and is she? But she goes in for a hug anyways and smiles brightly at her older sister even while sorting through the jumble of emotions. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

Jane smiles forgivingly, the gleam in her eye telling her they'll discuss it later. She turns to Chuck. "Is this your boyfriend?"

Sarah hesitates, wanting to spit out, _It's complicated. _Because the Jane she knew three years ago would have understood, but she's still feeling out the Jane standing in front of her. So she goes with the simplest answer. "Yes."

"Hi, I'm Chuck," the man in question says, holding his hand out to Jane and her husband in turn.

"It's very nice to meet you," Jane says. "I'm Jane, and this is my husband Ben."

He steps forward. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this."

Chuck glances over at Sarah, who pretends not to notice. "Me, too," he says softly.

Jane hands off the baby to Ben before showing them to the guest room, where they deposit their bags. Sensing that a heart-to-heart is coming, Sarah suggests that Chuck take a shower first. Thankfully, he gets the hint and takes his bag into the bathroom, leaving the two sisters alone.

Jane sits down, flopping comfortably onto the bed. Neither speaks until the sound of shower water running can be heard.

"So what's the real story with him?" Jane asks, her tone hovering between serious and teasing.

Sarah scowls. "How can you act like we're not going to be attending a funeral in two hours?"

"I never get to see you," Jane sighs. "Can you blame me for wanting to catch up?"

Leaning against the dresses, Sarah glances down at her feet. "I don't get it. What happened to you? Three years ago you had your career on track. That was all you cared about. You were –"

"I was just like you," she interrupts. In a softer voice, she adds, "I was just like Mom."

Crossing her arms, Sarah looks at her sister, this woman she's barely seen but whom she thought she knew. "I thought that mattered to you."

Jane smiles and shrugs. "I fell in love. And from what I can tell, it looks like you're halfway there yourself."

Sarah scoffs, looking at Jane sharply.

Chuckling lightly, Jane replies, "I know we haven't exactly been close over the years, but you can't hide it from me." The smile lingers on her lips, but her eyes show her concern. "Are you going to tell me about him?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Oh, come on, Annie! I've known the guy for three minutes and I can already tell he adores you."

Sitting down beside her sister and fidgeting her fingers, she says, "It's still Sarah. For now."

But deep down, she knows she'll always be Sarah. _For him_.

"Oh, my God," Jane breathes. "He's a mark?"

Sarah shakes her head quickly. "No. An asset."

Suddenly sober, Jane nods. They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the shower, before she says, "I'm sorry."

Sarah chuckles. "I'm sorry, too."

Sorry that her relationship with Chuck is stuck in limbo, sorry that she's not brave enough to tell him how she feels, sorry that their mother is dead, sorry that the world just . . . sucks and that there's nothing she can do about it.

Gladdened by a sudden thought, she picks her head up. "But you have a baby! You have a family and life."

Jane can't stop a smile from appearing on her face.

"I feel like I don't even know you," Sarah says.

Jane shrugs. "Ben just changed my priorities. You know how it is."

Sarah nods wordlessly, too overwhelmed to admit that she does indeed know what that feels like.

The shower shuts off in the bathroom, knocking the sisters from their thoughts.

Jane stands up, saying, "I should go get ready. See you downstairs?"

Sarah nods. "We'll be ready soon."

"Great. See you."

A minute later, Chuck emerges from the bathroom wearing only boxer shorts and carrying his duffel bag. His curls are still damp from the shower, and she tries not to think about what it'd be like to have this – for _real_ – every day. Sure, they live together, but they still have boundaries. No matter how much those boundaries have relaxed, they're still there. She wants to fall asleep beside him without worrying about what kind of threats the next day will bring to him. She wants the sweetest part of her day to be his goodbye kiss as they part for work, even if they're just across the plaza from each other. And she wants to be able to fall into his arms after a long day of work – or night, whichever job it happens to be.

He stops in his tracks when he notices her staring. "Everything all right?" he asks.

She smiles. It's the first time he's mentioned this messed-up situation, and even now he has the tact to do it indirectly.

"Yeah, fine," she says. "You'll have to iron your clothes. Sorry." Indicating his bag, she throws him an apologetic look.

He quirks a smile and shrugs. "No problem. What'd you pack for me?"

She likes to think that his implicit, unshakeable trust in her packing skills is a sign of his affection for her.

"Black slacks; a white, long-sleeved button-down; and that dark red sweater you hardly wear."

She loves that sweater (she loves him in pretty much anything, actually), and obviously he knows that, too, because he only wears it on the most special occasions, when he wants her to notice him.

Like he needs any help.

He sets the bag on the bed and starts to pull out clothes, and her eyes linger on his almost-naked body a little too long. Before her heart can make any rash decisions, she clears her throat, tells him she's going to take a shower, and disappears into the bathroom. Once safely inside, she leans against the door and lets out a slow breath.

She doesn't know how much longer she can fight this.

* * *

After her shower, Sarah heads downstairs. But three steps from the bottom landing, she stops, her gaze caught by the view of Chuck in the living room, cradling Jane's daughter against his chest.

As preoccupied as he is by the baby, he doesn't notice her, and she leans into the wall to hide herself from sight. But seeing him with this child changes her perception. Her heart swells with possibilities, and she lets her head run wild with images of him as a father. Despite her best efforts, she can't deny that the children in her daydreams have inherited features from both her and Chuck.

"Hey."

Sarah whips around to find her sister looking at her with concern.

"You okay?" Jane asks.

"Yeah, yeah," she stammers. "I'm fine." Except the tears pooled in her eyes give her away.

Jane, unconvinced, gestures toward the living room. "Is this about him?"

Sarah swallows noncommittally, allowing her gaze to wander back towards Chuck, and her non-answer is enough of an answer for her sister.

Jane snakes an arm around Sarah's shoulders and says quietly, "You shouldn't fight it. It just makes it hurt worse." She smiles kindly. "Trust me. _I know_."

Before she can reply, Jane leaps down the last few steps and waltzes into the living room to greet Chuck. Stunned, Sarah follows.

"Oh, hey, Jane," Chuck says as he rises from the couch. "I was just looking after Danielle while Ben got ready."

He tries to hand off the baby to her, but Jane says, "No, you look very comfortable."

He smiles. "I haven't held a baby in a long time."

"Feels natural, doesn't it?"

Chuck starts to nod, but stops as he glances over at Sarah, hovering near the bookshelf. She meets his eye, trying to tell him it's okay. Because they've made an agreement – nothing they say or do here will come back to L.A. with them.

"Do you want kids, Chuck?" Jane asks.

Instinctively, Sarah knows the question doesn't arise from cruelty. She's just trying to show Sarah what she can have. As if she doesn't already know a life with Chuck would be beyond her wildest dreams.

He clears his throat, his eyes never leaving Sarah's, and answers, "Yeah, someday."

It's only later, when he's safely out of earshot, that she gathers the courage to whisper, "Me, too."

* * *

She finds them in the kitchen. Ben's holding Danielle, all bundled up in winter clothes, and leaning against the counter, Jane by his side. Chuck, the only one not fully dressed for the funeral, is sitting on a high stool at the counter. When she raises an eyebrow at his tie-less state, he smiles and takes a tie out of each of his pockets.

"I didn't know which one to pick. What do you think?" he asks.

He holds them both up for her to see – a red and black Darth Maul tie and a black one with tiny silver ones and zeroes. Wordlessly, she picks the binary tie and drapes it around his popped collar. She can feel his eyes upon her as her fingers dexterously knot the silk fabric. Her cheeks feel suddenly warm, but she ignores the sensation and tightens his tie against his collar. Feeling courageous, she sticks the tie between his sweater and shirt. Her gaze flickers up at him as she lifts up the bottom of the sweater and tugs at the tie, pulling it snug.

A smile appears on his lips, and she suddenly realizes how close his mouth is to hers, close enough that she can feel him breathe. She smoothes his sweater down, letting her hands linger near his stomach before sliding them to the sides of his waist.

There's something about the way he feels, the way he smells, that makes this instant seem so absurdly ordinary. Smiling mischievously, he grabs her and lifts her into his lap. Giving into the moment, she laughs and rests her head against his chest.

Sarah breathes in deeply. She loves the scent of him – that particular blend of fresh laundry and Irish Spring soap that she's come to associate with him – and she doesn't get to breathe it in as often as she would like. So she gives herself a moment, just one moment to forget herself.

Chuck strokes her back, his fingers flitting lightly over the black silk of her dress. He holds her protectively, but less like he doesn't want to ever let her go and more like he won't ever let anything bad touch her.

And, feeling his arms around her right now, she almost feels like nothing bad will ever touch her again.

* * *

They stand aloof from the rest of the attendees, under a tree that's lost most of its leaves, its bark grizzled with age and experience. She feels almost as she did at Bryce's funeral – like she had missed the chance to get to know someone. But this time, she rationalizes, she has Chuck by her side.

She latches onto him, tightly clutching his hand. He refrains from making any grumpy remarks, though, not about the pain in his hand from her too-tight grasp or about the chilly, late November air.

She listens to the ceremony as if numb, and her mind is still hazy when they return to the house for the luncheon. There aren't an overwhelming number of attendees, but even so, Sarah manages not to mingle that much. The one person she both needs to see and dreads seeing doesn't show up, though, so she's left to nurse a drink in the corner of the living room. Chuck never leaves her side, every once in a while placing a comforting hand on her back.

The people they do talk to are mostly older neighbors, the ones who miraculously recognize her from ten years ago or more. They call her "Annie" and Chuck doesn't say a word, just nods like he's called her "Annie" for the past fourteen months, too. They unanimously approve of him, think he's the best thing to happen to her. And somehow their affection gets translated into pinching his cheeks, and gathering him into friendly hugs, and calling him "Charles" or "Charlie." And still, he takes it all in stride, with the sincerest of smiles on his face. He doesn't try to use their connections to her to learn about her past, just stands next to her like he knows his presence is the only thing keeping her upright, keeping her sane.

At around three o'clock, the crowd dwindles, and Sarah heads upstairs to change out of her mourning dress and into jeans and a sweatshirt. When she returns to the living room, Jane and Ben are sitting on the couch, Ben cradling Danielle, and Chuck is seated in an armchair.

Ignoring their expressions, she turns to Chuck and says, "Hey, we should probably get going. We've got a long drive."

She tries to appeal to him with her eyes, but he simply takes her hand and pulls her onto his lap again. Fighting her ever-present need to be in control, she doesn't object, merely leans against him and enjoys the feeling of his arms around her waist.

Jane clears her throat and offers, "You don't have to leave so soon, you know."

"Yeah," Ben agrees, "stay another night. We'd really love it if you did."

"It'd be nice if we could see each other for more than one day every three or four years."

Sarah leans back, reaching a hand up to feel Chuck's curls. She heaves a sigh.

Chuck nuzzles her neck. "If we leave now, we'll be driving all night." In a soft, almost joking tone he adds, "And I'm pretty tired already."

She sighs again, knowing what staying even a second night will bring – memories, personal conversations, too many things dealing with the past.

But Jane pleads silently with her, and she can tell that Chuck wants to stay, too, even though he's careful not to let on.

So she leans her cheek against his and murmurs, "Okay. Let's stay another night."

And the smile she receives from Jane is all she needs to lighten her heart.

* * *

The four of them spend the rest of the day in comfortable conversation, drinking coffee and just relaxing. Sarah's quiet, but contented, and she lets the other three do most of the talking. Jane tells Sarah about her romance with Ben while the boys bond over movies and video games. They lapse into the cozy kind of silence that happens between sisters, occasionally laughing at the boys as they battle it out on Ben's Xbox, and Sarah comes close to spilling everything to Jane.

But she doesn't.

Not yet.

When it gets dark, Ben makes hot chocolate and they relax in the kitchen until Chuck spots the first flakes of snow falling bravely from the sky. He jumps from his chair with a delighted laugh and springs toward the door. Slightly alarmed, Sarah follows him, but stops in the doorway.

"Chuck!" she calls as he runs outside. "Chuck, it's freezing!"

To demonstrate her point, she crosses her arms against her chest and rubs them with her hands. But it's no use as he's already jumping around the back yard trying to catch flakes in his mouth, not even looking in her direction.

She laughs at the absurd sight, but decides to try one last appeal to his common sense. "You don't even have shoes on!"

Laughing, Chuck runs over to her, grabs her by the hand, and pulls her into the yard.

He tosses his head back toward the sky and says, "It's snowing, Sarah!"

His delight is infectious, and she can't help trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jane and Ben watching, smiling, from the window, and somewhere deep down, she knows she can't lose this.

* * *

Later that night, Chuck sits in bed reading as Sarah slides under the covers, facing him and sitting cross-legged. When she takes the book out of his hands and sets it down on the covers, he props up the pillows and sits up a little straighter.

"What's up?" he asks quietly.

She makes a face somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "My mom was an agent," she confesses.

He looks like he's about to say something, so she lays a hand on his knee and shakes her head.

"No, I want you to hear this. . . . She was an agent, and on an extended mission, she fell in love with my dad, a civilian. And she had this motto, she was always telling us to grab every opportunity we could, because life was short and we might be dead the next day."

He chuckles at this, and she smiles sadly.

"So they got married," she continues. "My mom took a desk job with the agency, but she still went on field assignments every once in a while. We had a surprisingly normal childhood. Our parents loved us." She pauses, unsure of how to phrase the next part. "But my mom was restless. When I was about eight or nine, she started leaving on field assignments more often, and for longer periods of time. When I was eleven, she missed Christmas, and very nearly missed New Year's, without even seeming to notice. My dad couldn't take it anymore, so he took off the year I turned thirteen."

She doesn't break her narrative, but he takes her hand in his, gently massaging her knuckles.

Sniffling, she says, "My mom started to treat us like mini-recruits. We learned most of what we know from her."

"Wait," he finally interrupts. "'We'?"

Swallowing, she nods slowly. "Jane's an agent, too. Well, she was. Until she met Ben."

He stares at her in a way that makes her feel as if she can read into him. And it scares her that he's thinking of the similarities between her and Jane, more importantly between their situations. Watching him struggle with that, she laces their already-touching fingers.

"Sorry," he smiles sheepishly. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," she says with a squeeze of his hand. "Because of her connection to the agency, they'd been keeping tabs on us. Even if she hadn't trained us, I probably would have ended up there anyways. She just gave us a head start." She takes a deep breath before adding, "I signed a contract with them the morning of my high school graduation."

The silence grates on her as he struggles to take it all in, the weight on her heart getting more oppressive by the second.

She's about to burst, about to accuse him of something, anything, when he finally says quietly, "You never cease to amaze me."

Funny. She'd say the same thing about him.

In an effort to explain her rollicking emotions over the past two days, she says, "She died on a mission. I hadn't spoken to her in almost a year and a half." She shakes her head, feeling lost. "Even though we didn't stay in touch that often, she was a big part of my life, and it's hard to imagine what it'll be like without her."

Smiling softly, he scoots closer to her and drapes an arm around her shoulders. "I know you don't like to talk about personal things very much, but I do know what it's like to lose parents. So if you ever decide that you do want to talk, you know where I live."

She laughs lightly, settling her head into the crook of his neck.

"Thank you," she tells him, and she tilts her head to kiss him on the chin.

He laughs. "That tickles!"

And suddenly they're embroiled in a tickle fight that's stunningly inappropriate considering the events of the past day and a half.

* * *

The next morning, Sarah wakes to the luxurious smell of pancakes. She's somehow found her way into his arms during the night and is now lying almost on top of him, her head nestled in the space under his chin.

For the past month or so, they've been sleeping in the same bed, and every night, she gets closer to ripping down the boundaries and falling asleep in his arms. But it's somehow easier on her psyche if she only unconsciously moves towards him in the night. It's easier than letting her guard completely down and succumbing to his embrace before she falls asleep.

And every morning when she wakes up pillowed next to him, she tells herself that it's the last time, that she shouldn't get used to his warmth. But today as she opens her eyes, feeling his arms lightly encompassing her, she decides that she wants this for as long as possible, that she'll fight to keep him.

* * *

At the breakfast table, Chuck sits next to her, clearly pleased with the morning's meal. She watches him closely, a sad smile playing on her lips. Her pancakes, though they look delicious, sit almost untouched on the plate in front of her.

Jane, noticing the look on her sister's face and her apparent lack of appetite, bounces Danielle on her knee and asks, "Do you want to hold her?"

Sarah looks up quickly, spluttering, "Ex-excuse me?"

"Come on," Jane smiles. "This is your second day here and you haven't held your niece."

She's prepared to decline, but she can feel Chuck and Ben's eyes on her, and Jane's expression is too open and honest for her to refuse her anything. So she shrugs her shoulders noncommittally, hoping her sister will see her discomfort and rescind the offer.

"But Danielle just loves her Aunt Sarah," Jane says as she walks around the table. "Don't you, Dani? Yes, you do."

"Oh, really, Jane –"

And the baby's in her arms before she can object any further. The weight is unusual, but not exactly uncomfortable. She feels remarkably stupid, though, because she's never actually held a baby, at least not within the last few years, not since it's mattered.

"You have to support her head," Chuck smirks before popping another bite of pancake into his mouth.

She could smack him, really, she could, but she does as he says, shifting her arms to better support the baby's tiny body. Pulling Danielle's blanket a little tighter, an unfamiliar sense of longing suffuses her as the baby's hand wraps around her forefinger. And for the first time, she looks – really looks – into her niece's eyes. They're a startling shade of grey – Jane's eyes, their father's, too.

Her heart expands, so much so that she thinks her chest might burst from the extra pressure.

She wants this, wants to be able to hold a child in her arms and know she'll be able to protect it, provide for it. She wants to be able to open her heart enough to let in the man sitting beside her, the man who waits patiently for the day she'll return his affections, the man who loves her. She wants to experience what it means to love a family above all else, even the job she's sacrificed herself to for the last decade.

There. She's admitted it to herself. That's the first step, right?

Turning her thoughts back to the baby, Sarah tickles her chin, causing Danielle to gurgle happily.

"Are you surprised?"

Jolted from the moment, Sarah looks up at her sister.

"What?" she asks.

"Are you surprised at how quickly you fall in love?" Jane's eyes are dancing. She knows she's caught Sarah in a trap. And the funny thing is that Sarah hardly minds.

She looks down at the little girl in her arms, rocking her gently. "She's my niece," she says quietly. "How could I not love her?"

Chuck slides an arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. She looks up at him, right into the tentative smile on his face. That smile tells her that he's in this for the long haul, that he'd have no objection to spending his mornings like this all the time, as long as he spends them with her.

* * *

The goodbye with Jane and Ben is bittersweet, and Sarah finds herself making mental plans for seeing her sister again. Before the images in her mind can get too sentimental – Christmas is coming soon – she stops herself, forcing her to think of more realistic things.

Chuck walks towards the passenger's side, but Sarah stops him with a tug on his sleeve.

She holds up the keys. "Mind driving?"

"'Course not," he smiles as he takes the keys and changes direction. "Anything for you."

She opens the car door, but pauses before she slides into the seat, her gaze turned toward the house. Jane, Ben, and Danielle are framed in the window, the picture of a perfect family. She draws a deep breath, willing her heart not to hurt so much. They're waving, Jane holding up Danielle's tiny hand, sad smiles on all their faces.

Sarah and Chuck wave back, and Sarah hopes the sadness in her eyes doesn't reach down to her smile. She continues to wave as she gets into the passenger's seat and Chuck pulls out of the driveway.

Once the house is out of sight, she swallows hard, pushing down all the feelings trying to bubble to the surface. Chuck's quiet, and she closes her eyes and burrows into her sweatshirt. She's asleep within minutes.

When she wakes, Chuck looks over and smiles.

"Hey," he says softly.

She rubs her eyes sleepily. "How long was I sleeping?"

"Three or four hours," he replies with a shrug.

She scratches her head, leaning her forehead against the cool window. "Anytime you want me to drive, just let me know."

"I'm fine for now." His gaze flickers to her. "But thanks."

Sarah sighs heavily as her thoughts turn down roads she doesn't want them to go. In this small, cramped space, there's nowhere to run. She has nowhere to hide from her demons.

She looks over at Chuck, and he has the decency to pretend not to notice. Even though she feels trapped, trapped between what she always expected of her life and what she now believes it could become, she knows that Chuck is right by her side, that he always will be.

She swallows. "Is it wrong to miss her? To wish for just a little more time with her?"

Taking a deep breath, he reaches out for her. His thumb skirts over the back of her hand. "No," he breathes as he looks directly at her, "it's human."

She smiles, simultaneously loving and fearing the way he can always make her feel better with just a few words and one of his smiles.

* * *

When they finally get back to their apartment, it's almost two in the morning. She waits until he's asleep to shower, hoping to find comfort in the warm water. But all it does is remind her of the kind of warmth she's refusing.

So when she's dressed in her warmest wallowing pajamas (again, a pair of Chuck's cotton pants she's commandeered for her own use), she stands before the bed, staring at him. His chest rises and falls peacefully, and his hair's already mussed up. Gently, she brushes back his bangs, but it's only when she slides under the covers and sidles up to him that he starts to stir.

When he's awake enough, he opens his mouth to say something, but as soon as he takes in her appearance – the baggy eyes, the damp, uncombed hair – he closes it, knowing she doesn't need some generic platitude meant to cheer her up.

"Will you just hold me?" she asks in a whisper.

The question's a formality, because they both know that he would hold her any time she needs to be held and that right now is undoubtedly one of those times.

Before she can stop the pain, her face is crunched up and the tears are flowing with alarming rapidity. As good as it feels to let it all out, it feels better to be next to him, knowing he'll _always_ be there.

He responds by scooting his arms around her. Grateful, she leans her forehead against his chest, her tears dampening his t-shirt. If she had to pick the feature she loves most about him, she'd pick his arms. They're skinny for a guy's, but once they wrap around her (and she loves the feeling of his arms around her body), they're surprisingly strong, so strong that she knows he'll never let her go, never let her fall.


	5. The Wedding

A/N: Thanks to **BillatWork **for reading the first version of this chapter and pointing me in a better direction.

Again, I apologize for the wait. I'm blaming it on school. :P But thanks to those of you who have stuck with this story (and my other ones) throughout. I appreciate it!

Whoopsidaisy! The first lyrics are still from Snow Patrol's "Signal Fire." The second song is "If We Were in Love," lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman, music by John Williams.

* * *

_There you are, standing right in front of me  
There you are, standing right in front of me  
All this fear falls away to leave me naked  
Hold me close  
Cause I need you to guide me to safety._

Curled up on the couch, next to the fireplace, Sarah longs for the blustery winters of her childhood. LA winters are entirely too warm for her liking. She's good at pretending, and she's glad for the fireplace in their new apartment, because she can build a fire and make some hot chocolate and cuddle up on the couch with her book. The only thing is she's on number seven of Chuck's list of his favorite science fiction and fantasy books (which is really longer than ten, because Chuck's sneaked on at least six series . . .).

Number seven is _Wizard's First Rule_.

It's actually an excellent book, so excellent that she's barely put it down in the past three days, to the point where she's hardly had any interaction with Chuck. The problem is that the main characters, Richard and Kahlan, are too much like her and Chuck. It's torture watching them fall in love, all the while knowing they can never be together, but she can't bring herself to stop reading. It's too much like her own situation, and the worst part is that she can see no way out for Kahlan and Richard. By extension, she can see no way out for herself and Chuck.

She frowns as she turns the page, because Richard's gotten himself in trouble again. Chuck walks into the living room, a jacket over his hoodie and a messenger bag slung around his shoulder, but she keeps her eyes carefully trained on the page.

"I'm going over to Morgan's," he says. "Probably won't be back 'til late."

"Okay."

Chuck moves beside the couch. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge if you get hungry. And you know where the take-out menus are, if you're not in the mood for pizza."

A smile springs to her face, and she finally looks at him. Since they moved, they've both had to learn some basic cooking skills. Hers are still limited to breakfast and dessert, which suits Chuck fine, because he's quite able to take care of lunch and dinner. Even so, they order out so often that the local pizzeria and Chinese restaurant know them on a first name basis and simply by the sounds of their voices when they call. Oddly enough, that more than anything has caused Morgan to give his seal of approval to the new living arrangement.

"Thanks," Sarah tells him. "I'm sure I can manage."

"Right," he chuckles, glancing down at his Converses. "Of course you can." She returns to her book, expecting him to leave, but he nudges her knee with his own and says softly, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replies without lifting her eyes from the page.

He sits down at the end of the couch, just beyond her blanket-covered feet, and leans his forearm on her raised knees. "You're really bad at lying to me, you know," he tells her, the hint of a smirk on his face.

_Damn_. She knows she's been slipping, even more so since they moved in together, but she had hoped she could still hide certain emotions from him, or that he'd be sweet enough to pretend he'd never seen them in the first place. But she has no such luck.

Her gaze flickers to briefly meet his. "At least I'm still good at lying to all the people who want us dead."

"You're changing the subject."

"You're the one who changed it in the first place. Now get going." She pushes his thigh. "You're going to be late."

His smile fades. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's bothering you."

Sarah sighs. "I hate this book. That's what's wrong."

He gently takes the novel out of her hands and places it on the coffee table. He reaches out to place a finger under and lift her chin. She shyly meets his eyes.

"You've barely spoken to me for the past few days because you've had your nose buried in it. There's no way you hate it. So what's really bothering you?"

She hates the way he can see through her, hates the way he makes her want to confess all her secrets and fears with just one look.

She swallows before telling him in a soft voice, "The wedding . . ."

Chuck tilts his head, confused. "The wedding? What do you mean?"

She purses her lips, finding it hard to believe that she waited until just a few days before the wedding to raise her objections. "I mean, I don't know if I can be a proper bridesmaid." He gives her a half-smile, still not understanding. "It's just . . . there are certain people who are really good at things like that, things like being a bridesmaid." She clarifies, "Friend things."

Chuck's smile grows as he rests his chin on his arm, already resting on her knees. "You're a good friend, Sarah. I know you think you haven't had much practice, but you are." He lowers his voice and looks around conspiratorially. "Morgan's got years on you and you kind of blow him out of the water in that department." He chuckles, but his voice is serious as he adds, "But you want to know the real reason you'll be all right?" Pausing, he takes her hand. "Because I'll be right by your side the entire day."

His words warm her heart, even more than the fire warms her feet. Unable to keep her lips from curving into a smile, she leans forward and threads the fingers of her free hand through his curls. "You're sweet, Chuck. Thank you." She sighs and adds with a light laugh, "But you should probably go. I wouldn't want to keep Morgan waiting too long."

He laughs and gives her a peck on the cheek before rising from the couch. He doesn't let her hand drop until their arms are stretched to full length. She watches him go, gladdened when he turns around at the door to give her one last smile, and picks up her book again.

* * *

She wakes up as he tiptoes into the living room. He slings his bag onto the armchair and walks quietly over to the couch. She stirs, blinking her eyes open, as he removes the book from her hands and places it on the coffee table. He takes the blanket from the back of the couch, and lays it over her, his hands lingering as he tucks it around her shoulders.

"Mmm," she murmurs, rolling onto her side, "how was video gaming?"

Smiling, Chuck sits on the coffee table. "Good, good."

"Don't sit on my book!" she shouts lazily.

He jumps up just enough to check if he's sitting on, but settles back down when he sees he isn't. "Relax," he says quietly. "Why aren't you in bed?" He fixes an admonishing look on her. "Please tell me you ate dinner."

She smiles shyly, grateful that he can't see her blush in the dimness of the room. But she buries her face in the pillow anyways. "You don't have to worry about me so much, you know."

"If I didn't, you probably wouldn't even take the time to eat," he teases with a chuckle. "Now are you going to come to bed or do you want to sleep out here?"

"I want to sleep with you."

The words are out of her mouth before she can think about them, before she can apply her usual censor to her tired brain. Her cheek against the pillow, she freezes, her eyes wide as they stare at the coffee table.

Foot, meet mouth.

"Uh . . ." she mutters, "I meant, I meant that –"

"You're tired," Chuck says quietly, and when she finally has the courage to look at him, she sees the shock fading from his eyes. "Let's get you to sleep, shall we?"

She breathes a low sigh of relief and takes the hand he gallantly offers, letting him lead her to the bedroom.

He stays in the bathroom extra-long tonight, probably to give her private time to change into her pajamas. She's grateful, even though they've been dressing in the same room since just a few weeks after they moved in. It took a while for Chuck to get comfortable dressing around her, but tonight she's glad she doesn't have to deal with the sidelong glances and the knowing silences.

Sarah finishes dressing and hops onto the bed, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. With a sigh, she lets her hair, already messy because of napping on the couch, out of its ponytail and runs a hand through it. She squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in her hands. Each day brings her closer to telling Chuck her true feelings. But at the same time, does he even still need her to say it out loud? For heaven's sake, even Casey understands how she feels, why she acts the way she does, why she insists on torturing herself by living with Chuck even though the relationship can never be consummated.

He comes back into the room, his eyes carefully avoiding hers, and she stands. Walking past him, she reaches out a hand and lets it drift across his stomach. His abdominal muscles tense, but he doesn't move away and the touch is over in just a few seconds. When she's finished brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed, she stands in the doorway of the bedroom, her arms crossed and her shoulders sagging as she watches him pretend to be sleeping.

Sarah rolls down the covers on her side and climbs into bed. He shifts but doesn't open his eyes. Usually, he'd open an arm for her to curl up against him, and they'd be asleep within minutes. But tonight she keeps her distance. Tonight, she feels like if she touches him, they'll be no going back.

She flips on her side, away from Chuck. But she's not tired anymore, and she ends up just staring at the wall. She counts the seconds first, then the minutes.

After a full four minutes, she asks in a whisper, "Are you still awake?"

The mattress sinks a bit, the sheets rustle. "Yeah, of course. What's up?"

"I'm sorry."

He scoots closer, so close she can feel his breath on her neck and feel his fingers fiddling with the hem of her tank top. "For what?"

She sighs. "For . . . being such a social burden."

He laughs lightly, his breath tickling her hair. "What are you talking about?"

"I feel like you always have to look out for me when we're with your family and friends, that's all."

Chuck props himself up, draping an arm across her waist in an attempt to turn her over to look at him. "Hey, where's all this coming from?"

She flips onto her back and looks up at him. "I'm supposed to be the one protecting you, remember? So why's it seem like you're always the one taking care of me, huh?"

He purses his lips thoughtfully. "This is about the wedding, isn't it? Do you want me to call you during the bachelorette party tomorrow to get you out of it?"

Sarah lets out a laugh and runs her fingers through her hair. Then, impulsively, she runs her fingers through his as well. His mouth is frozen in a smile, but his eyes are strangely distant. Extracting her fingers from his curls, she asks quietly, "Why does your sister trust me so much?"

_For that matter, why do_ you _trust me so much?_

Shrugging, he replies, "She thinks you're good for me. You actually get me out of the house for something other than video games or movies."

Sarah chuckles again but quickly grows sober. "That doesn't seem like enough of a reason."

With a grim expression, he replies, "That's because you're used to a world of lying and secrecy, where people are never what they seem to be, where goodness can't be trusted." He hooks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry you have to live in that world."

Sarah can't breathe. Men have given her compliments regarding her beauty, her body, before, but they've never taken the time to get to know the person beneath it all or to compliment her personality. And she's never gotten one from a man she's actually cared about this much. Staring up into Chuck's adorable, goofy face right now, Sarah's never felt so in love. And she's never before felt just how inadequate the expressions of that love are.

She looks past him, a lump in her throat and that familiar pain behind her eyes. This is it – a fight or flight moment. They've come to many of these crossroads in the past, and she always runs away, always in the opposite direction of Chuck.

But the thing is if you keep running, you never learn what it's like to feel the sun warming your face or what it's like to smell the flowers by the side of the road.

She could tell him. She could.

But something, some tiny misgiving buried in her chest, keeps her from speaking up. Her lips go numb, her tongue goes dry, her throat goes tight.

Of all the names she's been called, in all the languages, 'coward' was never one of them. Until now.

Off her look, Chuck lies back down beside her, and she turns toward him, burying her head against his collarbone. He keeps his arm around her, tightening it a bit as her tears wet his undershirt. She's able to hold back the deluge, though, and only a few drops fall. She snuggles closer against him, grateful for his warmth, for his comfort, for _him_.

And just like she has every night since they moved in together, Sarah falls asleep in Chuck's arms.

* * *

"Chuck! You're not answering your phone! You have a cute message. That helps to make up for it, I guess. Very adorable-nerd-in-a-"Battlestar-Galactica"-t-shirt type of cute. Nerds don't drink moe-hee-toes, though."

Laughter.

"I'm drinking moe-hee-toes. Have you ever had a moe-hee-toe? You really should try one. They're _de_-licious! I don't know why we don't have them more often.

"You know what else we don't have very often?

"Sex! We _never_ have sex.

"I think that's your fault, Mr. Bartowski. And I'm angry about that. I hope you can pick up on that over the phone. Can you?"

Pause.

"I'm angry about the no-sex thing, not the no-moe-hee-toe thing. Just so you know.

"You should also know that I expect to fix that tonight. The no-sex thing, I mean."

"Ellie, get over here! I think Sarah's drunk-dialing!"

* * *

Sarah groans sleepily as sturdy arms wrap around her, lifting her into the air. She beats feebly at his chest before giving up and settling her head against him. Her tongue tastes bad, like sandpaper. Why does her tongue taste so bad?

And that's when memories of the bachelorette party come flooding back to her. The music, the mojitos, the phone call – oh, God! The phone call!

Her eyes snap open, her head jerking up towards Chuck. He glances down at her amused. She didn't think she could get any more mortified. How did she let her guard slip that much?

Before she can apologize, before she can make an excuse, he asks, "Did you have a good time at the party?"

Seriously? She's half-asleep and instead of pressing her about that ridiculously compromising phone call, he wants to talk about whether she had fun at Ellie's bachelorette party?

He sneaks another glance down at her, and that's when she realizes.

Of course he wouldn't. He's Chuck, and a gentleman never presses his advantage.

"Yeah, I did," she answers shyly. "Did you?"

Looking slightly perplexed, he dodges, "Oh, yeah, sure. It was . . . fun."

She pokes him in the chest. "What did you do?"

He chuckles. "Morgan and I snuck off to play some video games after an hour or so," he confesses.

Rolling her eyes, she settles her head against his chest again. "What am I going to do with you?" she murmurs.

He simply shrugs, laughing, and when they finally reach the bedroom, she finds that she doesn't want him to put her down. She loves it when he carries her. But put her down he does, placing her gently on top of the covers. He falls onto the bed beside her, looking dead tired. Lying on her back, she stares at the ceiling before turning her face to look at him wordlessly.

He's asleep, his breathing faint and rhythmic.

He looks so innocent, so naïve, and her heart suddenly constricts with a longing to give him the future he wants.

Only, she's not so sure she can give him that future.

* * *

Sarah jogs through the courtyard, her dress hoisted up over her heels and a plastic shopping bag swinging from one hand. She can hear shouts and laughter coming from the surrounding apartments – female from the Bartowskis' and male from Casey's. As she's passing by the fountain, the door to Ellie's apartment opens and Jordan, a nurse at Ellie's hospital and another bridesmaid, peeks out.

"Did you get it?" she asks.

Sarah holds up the bag of hairspray she'd been sent out for. "Of course, right here!"

Jordan, her hand to her chest, breathes a sigh of relief. "You're awesome, Sarah. Thank you so much."

Sarah laughs and hands off the bag, resting her back against the doorframe.

"You coming?" Jordan asks.

"In a minute."

Jordan crosses her arms and leans against the other side of the door. "A little scared?"

Sarah turns her head sharply and, uncertain, asks, "What?"

Jordan shrugs. "I get it. Weddings freak people out. But you and Chuckles seem pretty solid." She narrows her eyes. "Maybe that's the problem, though."

"What are you talking about, Jordan?"

"Everyone thinks you and Chuck are the cutest couple. But people get pushy at weddings. They'll start making comments about you two being the next to tie the knot, thinking they're being subtle when they're really just being offensive."

Sarah chuckles. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm afraid of."

"Well, don't worry." Sarah looks up. "Bridesmaids aren't support for only the bride, you know. We stick together. We'll keep the guests off your and Chuck's backs."

"Thanks, Jordan. I appreciate it."

"You know what else bridesmaids are good for?" Jordan continues, a mischievous smile playing across her face. "Giving groomsmen a swift kick in the pants!"

Sarah laughs. "What makes you think Chuck needs a kick in the pants?"

Shrugging, Jordan replies, "Sure, he's charming, adorable, thoughtful, but will he dance? Don't worry. I will make sure he takes you for a few spins around the dance floor."

Sarah is about to protest when Chuck himself emerges from Casey's apartment.

He's dressed in his black slacks, white button-down, and black vest already, and her breath catches at the sight. She loves him in well-cut clothes, and his tuxedo is no exception. His cornflower blue bow-tie, matching her dress, hangs untied around his collar. He looks up in the midst of buttoning his cufflinks, and a smile breaks out onto his face.

Jordan squeezes her shoulder. "See you in a few."

"Yeah, see you," Sarah murmurs without taking her eyes off of Chuck.

He walks up to her, still struggling with the cufflink. Without a thought, she buttons it up for him.

He blushes slightly and says, "I still can't believe Casey let all the groomsmen get ready in his apartment." He holds up two fingers, a millimeter of space between them. "I think he's about _this_ close to shooting Woody just to get him to shut up. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

She quirks a brow as she turns to address his bow-tie. "About Casey wanting to shoot the original Mr. Awesome?"

"About Casey suddenly becoming the perfect neighbor?"

"I just did my duty as a bridesmaid – asked him if we could use his place – that's all."

"'Asked'?" he questions with a grin. "Or aggressively persuaded?"

Her mouth twitches into a matching grin, and she's glad that tying his bowtie allows her to avoid his eyes. "Fine. You caught me. I . . . convinced him."

"Why?"

"Because." Her fingers pause in their work. "I want this day to go perfectly."

They smile at each other, and Sarah's heart lifts the slightest bit.

Chuck finally breaks the stare by asking, "So how's everything going in there?"

"Oh, we had a hairspray emergency," she giggles. "But it's going fairly well considering. Your sister's quite the calm bride."

"I'm glad to hear it. If you need anything, let me know."

She takes his hand and pulls him toward the door. "Why don't you come inside and ask for yourself? There's no rule about groomsmen, you know."

Their appearance is met by a burst of delighted shouts.

"Chuck! You look so handsome!"

"Oh, you two are so adorable together!"

"Be sure to save a dance for me, Chuck!"

Blushing, Chuck greets the four other bridesmaids and Honey with a shy wave and pulls Sarah down the hallway toward Ellie's bedroom. He knocks softly on the doorframe and walks in.

"Hey, sis. You look beautiful."

Ellie turns around, looking stunning in a strapless, off-white gown, her hair done up in curls with sparkling pins. A brilliant smile lights up her face.

"Chuck!" She embraces him warmly. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "The guys were getting a little overwhelming. Thought I'd come over to see if you needed any help."

"No," she shakes her head. "Sarah and the rest of the bridesmaids have everything taken care of."

Hands in his pockets, Chuck glances over at Sarah. "Yeah? Is she doing a good job?"

Ellie laughs and smoothes down the folds of her gown. "She's been great. She saved us when we ran out of hairspray."

Chuck rolls his eyes at the notion of an emergency hairspray run but says, "I'm glad." His gaze lingers on Sarah's, and in the quiet that follows, she can hear the distant laughter from the living room.

Ellie rubs Sarah's arm and gushes, "You two look so great. I'm really glad you could share this with us, Sarah."

She smiles shyly. "Me, too."

They're startled by a knock on the door.

Jordan sticks her head in and says, "I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that the limos are here."

Chuck smiles. "I think that's our cue."

"Why don't you go ahead and get everyone else ready, Chuck?" Ellie suggests. "Sarah can help me with my veil, and we'll be out in a few minutes."

Chuck glances at Sarah, who wouldn't dare defy even a suggestion from Ellie. Off her look, he nods and, smiling, exits the room.

Ellie turns to Sarah. "Chuck looks handsome, doesn't he?"

"Very."

Ellie picks up her veil from off the bed and hands it to her. "Will you . . .?"

"Oh, sure," Sarah says, taking the veil from her and scooping a handful of bobby pins off the dresser.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize," she begins as she turns to face the mirror. "Devon really wanted to have Chuck as his best man, and I was so excited when you said you'd be a bridesmaid. But Chuck's always going on about how shy you are, so I didn't want to put any extra pressure on you by making you the maid of honor. I didn't want to make you feel weird or anything. So I'm sorry you and Chuck aren't paired together."

Shrugging, Sarah skillfully attaches the veil. "Well, hey, we're both still in the wedding party, right? And I consider it an honor to be your bridesmaid, Ellie."

Her veil in place, Ellie turns and grins at Sarah. She shakes her head, a tinge of sadness coming into her eyes. "I just can't believe this day is finally here."

"I know!" Sarah agrees with a light laugh. "Especially after all that planning with the Awesomes." Ellie's smile falters just the slightest bit. "Hey," Sarah says quietly, fixing the bride's bangs, "what's wrong? What's the matter?"

Ellie smiles again, but it's half-hearted. "I love Devon's family. They're a bit overwhelming, but I do love them. It's just that . . . Chuck had promised to find our dad, to walk me down the aisle, you know. And I knew all this time that it was a long shot, and that it was silly –"

"No, Ellie, it's not silly." Her voice breaks as she says it, and she wonders if he had really promised that.

Ellie's close to tears now. "He's been gone for almost twelve years. I shouldn't have expected him to come back. And now I think Chuck's upset because he couldn't find him."

The news that Chuck had been searching for his father floors Sarah. She would have expected him to come to her, to use the resources she has access to. She had thought he was through with hiding things from her, and it stings that he doesn't trust her, even with memories that painful.

She swallows, recovering from the news. "You've done so much for him, Ellie. He just wants to repay you."

"I wish he knew that he does that everyday, just by being my goofy little brother."

Sarah smiles, taking Ellie's hands. "Do you want me to tell him?"

"That'd be nice. But I want you guys to have fun today, okay? Promise me that?"

"Of course," Sarah nods, grinning. "It's the Woodcomb wedding. How could we not have fun?"

Chuck's waiting for them by the limos, the rest of the bridesmaids already in the first one. The toes of his dress shoes are tapping impatiently, and Sarah's suddenly thankful that she was able to convince him not to wear his Converses for the wedding. She's still not sure whether he's planning on busting them out for the reception, though.

"Ellie, I love you, but you're killing me here," he says, pointing to his watch and gesturing to their ride. "The guys are getting restless."

His sister grins sheepishly at him. "I know, I know! Give me a break or I'll sic Great-aunt Gertrude on you!"

Her laughter continues even as she disappears into the recesses of the car.

Sarah glances at Chuck, and he's frozen, a look of fathomless horror on his face. "Who's Great-aunt Gertrude?" she snickers.

He snaps out of his stupor, gulping as he comes to. "Blind as a bat, likes to pinch asses, that's all you need to know," he says quickly, giving her a gentle shove.

Grinning, Sarah resists the push. "Hey, hey, hey," she says softly, reaching an arm around his waist, and the fact that one bride and four very curious bridesmaids are watching them right now falls away. "Are you so eager to be rid of me?" she teases.

Looking up at her as if he's just noticed her, he smiles. "No, sorry. I just don't want the wedding party to be late for their own wedding, that's all."

Leaning in close, she rubs his arm and whispers in his ear, "Chuck, calm down, all right? Enjoy this." He nods as she pulls away. She smiles playfully. "Kiss for the road?"

Chuckling, he gives her a short kiss, and his face turns red when a giggly chorus of "aww"s follows. Deciding to spare him further embarrassment, she releases him.

"See you at the church, okay?"

"Yeah," he smiles, "see you there."

To her surprise, and delight, he gives her hand a final squeeze as he hands her into the limo.

* * *

Sarah stands at the front of the deserted church. The guests have departed, on their way to the reception, and the rest of the bridal party is outside taking pictures. The bouquet of pink tulips and white jasmine hangs loosely in her hand as she stares at the church, the white ribbons on the pews, the stained glass windows, the flower petals still strewn over the main aisle.

This could be hers one day. She could have the white dress and the chaos and the overwhelming happiness. She could have the reception and the dancing and the gifts. She could have it all, if she could only see past all the obstacles and hurdles blocking their way.

Even just the thought of him brings a smile to her face.

She could have all that, but she doesn't need it. What she really wants is a quiet celebration, not something elaborate. She wants something that's beautiful because of the love it represents, not because of how much time it took or how much money was spent.

A door in the back of the church opens slowly, creakingly. She keeps her head down for a minute, her eyes closed, drinking in the last moment of silence she will have for the rest of the day. When she looks up, Chuck is standing there, one hand on the last pew. Even from the opposite end of the church, she can see the grin brightening up his face. He sticks his hands into his trouser pockets and strolls leisurely up the aisle, his feet kicking at the petals, his eyes on her the entire way.

"You see," he begins playfully, "I'm pretty positive that the point of getting all gussied up is so that pictures can be taken and that the day can be immortalized for all of time." His eyes get wide as he emphasizes the last part of the sentence, and, as much as she tries, she can't suppress a laugh.

"Did you really just say 'gussied up'?" she asks.

Laughing, he reaches her, reaches out to her, and the perfect joy on his face makes it hard to breathe. She drops the bouquet, taking him in her arms instead, and pulls him close. Her forehead against his, she lets out a shaky breath and presses one hand against the back of his neck. His fingers ghost over her hips, the touch sending a shockwave coursing through her.

She leans toward him, just close enough to brush her lips the slightest bit against his upper one. Her heart rate skyrockets, and she can feel the blood pounding in her ears.

But now is not the time, and this is not the place.

Sighing, she says, "I know what you did for Ellie."

His arms grasp her waist a bit more tightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he protests quietly.

"Your father," she whispers, caressing his neck. Eyes closed, he slowly shakes his head. So close, she can feel the anguish radiating from him. Her voice is almost as pained as his face as she continues. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped."

His face scrunches up, but Chuck stays silent. She embraces him, holding him tightly, running her hands up and down his back, and hugging his head to her chest. Still he doesn't say a word.

"I hope you know that I want to help you," she says softly. "Always."

He pulls away from her abruptly. "I'm sorry." Chuckling nervously, he says, "You know, I was supposed to drag you out to take pictures. Now they'll just think I came in here to hide."

Chuck starts to walk back down the aisle, but she grabs him by the arm.

"No," she says more firmly, "you don't get to walk away from this. I don't care how much it embarrasses you, you have to hear it. I want you to." He freezes but doesn't look at her. She drops his arm, confident that he'll stay and listen. "I'm proud of you, Chuck, for everything you've done, for everything you are, for everything you have the potential to be.

"Ellie's proud of you. Awesome, too. All your friends." She pauses. "You should know."

Chuck sighs heavily, finally breathing out a low, "Thank you."

And when they join the rest of the bridal party for pictures, he harbors a small, modest smile, one she can't help but share.

* * *

Chuck clears his throat and stands up, champagne glass in hand. Sarah admires him in his tux. He looks so dapper that she wishes he had more excuses for wearing suits. She keeps telling herself she'll only stare for one more second, but one second turns into two, and seconds turn into minutes. He's been wearing it all day, but it's like she can't get used to it. She barely paid attention to the ceremony because she'd been staring at him across the aisle the entire time.

Right now, the guests are so wrapped up in conversation that no one's really paying him much attention. He clears his throat again, louder this time, and the rest of the wedding party looks up. Sarah dings her fork against her glass, and the din of conversation gets quieter. He shoots her a grateful smile, which she returns shyly. The DJ, finally catching on to what's going on, walks over and hands Chuck a wireless mike.

Chuck mutters his thanks and nervously brings the mike up to his mouth. "Hey, everyone." The noise in the ballroom finally ceases, and all eyes turn toward him. "Hi. I think most of you know me, but for those who don't, I'm Chuck, Ellie's brother."

He swallows and looks to Sarah, who flashes him an encouraging smile. Heartened, he continues, "Well, I've known her all my life, obviously, and I can honestly say that she's the best person I know. She practically raised me, and she's still one of my best friends. I'm truly thankful to be able to call her my sister.

"But when she brought home Devon one day, I didn't know what to think. Here was this tall, muscular, blond jock, who could probably kick my ass without breaking a sweat or messing up his perfect hair." Chuck sticks one hand in his pocket. "It didn't take me very long to figure out what a caring guy he really is. I know Devon loves my sister because of the effort he's made to insert himself into her life, to make friends with her friends, including me. As much as he loves to play sports, he doesn't mind geeking out and playing video games with me and Morgan every once in a while."

Devon and Ellie smile at this, looking up at Chuck as he continues. "I know they're going to make it because, not only are they good people, but they're fearless. And I'm not just talking about how they take risks every day as doctors."

Chuck takes a deep breath. "I'm talking about how they open up their arms to everyone they meet. I've seen them open up their home for Thanksgiving dinner to people they hardly know just because those people had no where else to go for the holiday." He smiles and glances toward Sarah. "I've seen them open their hearts to a young woman who has little family of her own.

"And I can't tell you how much they've looked out for me over the past few years, constantly pushing me in the right direction. And I love them for it, because they're completely unafraid of showing people, of showing each other, that they care." Looking at his sister and her new husband, he smiles. "That's how I know you guys are going to make it."

He raises his glass. "To Ellie and Devon. May your love last, and may you be an example for us all." The guest all clap, but as Chuck leans down to hug his sister and brother-in-law, Sarah overhears him say, "I'm sorry I don't have any practical advice for your marriage. But I do have faith in you two."

Sarah plasters a half-smile on her face, but she can't pretend the words don't hurt. Since they began living together, she had hoped he would come to see that their relationship, strange and unconventional though it is, is no less true because it lacks all the signs that most often accompany romances. So maybe she can't offer him traditional girlfriend things, like nights of intense seduction, or weekend getaways, or sexy lingerie.

But they do have real conversations, and they sleep in the comfort of each other's arms every night, and she reserves a special smile only for him. She thought he could at least see that.

The uncertain smile is still on her face when he comes back over to sit next to her, but it grows when he rests an arm against the back of her chair.

"That was quite a speech," she tells him, leaning in so he can hear her over the DJ.

"Thank you." He takes a gulp of champagne and licks his lips, either recovering from speaking in public or just extremely parched.

Sarah reaches out to touch his knee. "So how's it feel?"

He regards her curiously. "What, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "We've all been preparing for this wedding for so long. You haven't said much, but I know being best man has been a pressure for you, and now that you're done with that wonderful speech, aren't you relieved?"

Chuck smiles, that full, bright smile that she's come to love. "Yeah, I am. And I'm happy. I'm happy that Ellie and Devon are getting their perfect day. I'm happy that you're by my side to help them celebrate it." He pauses dramatically, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And I'm happy that no bad guys have shown up to ruin it for them."

She chuckles. "Me, too."

"But you promised me that this day would go perfectly, and I didn't doubt you for a minute."

"Not even for a minute?"

"Okay, maybe for a minute," he laughs.

He's so close now that she can feel his breath, hot and inviting, on her cheek. Timidly, his eyes search hers. She's never felt so close to surrendering, but she blames it on the overly romantic atmosphere and can only pray that he hasn't planned anything for Valentine's Day next week. He seems content to not say anything, to not press her, and she's content to just look at him.

A bright flash of light startles them both. Sarah turns to find the offender, her hand automatically drifting toward the knives strapped around her thigh. Chuck's hand reassuringly covers her own, letting her know the threat is not a threat at all, just the wedding photographer.

But even Chuck's touch can't calm her completely, and her glare loses none of its fierceness.

The photographer swallows, her shoulders hunched nervously. "I'm sorry. It was just such a cute picture. And Ellie was insistent that I get some of the two of you."

Chuck grins and jerks a thumb at Sarah. "Don't worry about it. This one's just stubborn, has a thing against getting her picture taken." Sarah lightly smacks him on the shoulder. "And she doesn't like anyone to know about it, either." He leans forward, lowers his voice, and winks conspiratorially. "Do me a favor? Take as many of her as you can, okay?"

The photographer glances between them, then, taking in Chuck's charming demeanor, nods her agreement and scuttles away before Sarah can protest. Chuck turns to face her, his eyes sparkling as he laughs.

"Oh, come on," he says. "The angry eyes? It's just a picture, after all. And it's the Woodcomb wedding. You had to have known how many cameras would be here."

She pouts. "It's not the picture."

Perplexed, he tilts his head. "Then what is it?"

_The lost moment_.

Sarah takes a deep breath, glances around the ballroom, and shakes her head. "Nothing."

"Fine." He frowns and slaps his knees. "I'll go get us some drinks."

She watches him go, scratching her eyebrow, lamenting yet another wasted opportunity.

* * *

After dinner, the DJ announces that it's time for the bouquet toss. Ellie, all her bridesmaids, and Chuck join forces to drag Sarah out onto the dance floor. She complies, but hovers near the back of the group, trying to pick the worst spot for flower catching. And of course, the toss comes near to her, too close for her liking. Sarah throws her arms up half-heartedly, trying to please Chuck but secretly pleased when someone else, a brunette friend of Ellie's, catches it.

And then she remembers the second half of the tradition.

She strolls back to the edge of the dance floor, where Chuck's waiting with his arms crossed, a smug look on his face.

"What?" she asks.

"That was a nice effort out there," he teases.

She pokes him in the chest. "Yeah, well, I want to see a similar effort from you."

He starts to nod but then frowns, baffled. "Wait, what?"

Sarah nods to the pretty brunette who caught the bouquet, then turns to smile at him. "You heard me. You better not catch that garter."

Chuck's eyes widen in understanding as his mouth forms a perfect 'O'. "Noted," he tells her with a tilt of his head. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shuffles onto the dance floor, turning around to grin at her as he goes.

She raises a hand to her cheek, laughing as she watches him make a show of trying to catch the garter. He walks back to her, his head hanging, and snaps his fingers in feigned disappointment.

Placing an arm on his shoulder, she says, "Oh, cheer up. I'll go get us some cake."

* * *

When she's had a few too many Coca-a-Colas (because she's afraid alcohol would loosen her inhibitions and her tongue a little too much), she skips out toward the restrooms, pausing when she notices Chuck following her. She lifts an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs and offers her his arm. "Can't a guy escort his girlfriend to the bathroom without raising any questions?"

She smiles indulgently, taking his arm. "Of course you can, sweetie."

He doesn't address the comment, but she blushes slightly, alarmed at the terms of endearment that slip so easily from her lips. He doesn't seem to mind, or even notice anymore, when she calls him 'sweetie' or 'honey,' even when no one else is around, even when they have no need of their cover relationship. She feels her cheeks burning again, something that's been happening way too often today, and she forces her eyes away from Chuck, oblivious though he is.

When she's done washing her hands in the bathroom, she stares at herself in the mirror, needing the extra time away from the noise and the crowds. And then she remembers the man waiting for her outside. After quickly reapplying her lipstick, she exits to find him leaning against the wall.

"Thanks for waiting," she says, looping her arm through his once more.

He grins. "No problem. It's nice to get away from the chaos for a few minutes."

Turning to him with a smile, she brushes back a stray curl. "I'd ask if you wanted to sneak out for a little while, but I have a feeling that that goes against probably every single bridesmaid rule in the book."

He chuckles, but his laugh dies away quickly. "You sure you're doing okay with this bridesmaid thing? I mean, Ellie and Awesome both love you, but I didn't want you to feel pushed into it."

She stops him with a hand on his chest. "Chuck, I wanted to do this. This isn't me conforming to my cover as girlfriend and doing what I should be doing. This is me doing what I want to do."

_For you_.

"I thought you didn't want to, though," he says uncertainly.

She gives a little shrug, suddenly shy. "I was nervous and wasn't sure if I could do a good job, but I never didn't want to do it."

He smiles, but she can detect a hint of strain in the expression. "Well, I know Ellie's grateful."

Sliding her hand up to his shoulder, she says quietly, "I should thank you, though."

"Me?" he chuckles nervously. "What for?"

She gives him a peck on the cheek. "For giving me the confidence I needed to be a friend."

Smiling, he leads her back to the main hall, and they make small talk along the way, Sarah ever grateful for the level of comfort in their relationship. Suddenly, though, Chuck stiffens. Before she can ask what's wrong, he turns to their right and leads her in a new direction.

"Hey," she says, touching his arm with her free hand. "What was that about? Did you flash?"

Twisting to face her, he grimaces and whispers, "Great-aunt Gertrude."

"Is that all?" she laughs. "Come on. She can't be that bad."

"Trust me," he says, trying to tug her toward the bar. She resists playfully, her smile fading when his eyes bug out and his feet seem rooted to the floor. "Oh, no," he whispers dramatically. "She's coming straight for us. There's no escape."

Sarah doesn't even have a chance to turn around before they're accosted by a mostly-blind octogenarian in a polka-dotted dress and an overstuffed hat.

"Is that my little Charlie-boy?" Gertrude screeches.

"Oh, ho!" Chuck hops away as his great-aunt pinches his butt. "Yeah, it's me, Aunt Gerty. Could you, could you just . . . stop . . . yeah, thanks."

"Oh, Charles. I haven't seen you in years! Are you still dating that Jill girl?" She leans close, delighted with the idea of a shared secret. "Didya marry her yet?"

He swallows, embarrassed, and moves toward Sarah. "No! No, Aunt Gerty. This is Sarah. She's, she's . . ." He trails off, glancing at her, and she looks back at him expectantly. He slips an around her shoulders with a smile. "She's my girlfriend."

Gertrude holds a pair of glasses up to her eyes, not bothering to hide her scrutiny of Sarah. "Well," she says, her voice less warm than before, "you're very pretty."

It doesn't sound much like a compliment.

Sarah tilts her head, not quite sure how much Gertrude can actually see. "Uh, thank you," she stammers, unconsciously smoothing her dress. She leans back into Chuck, thankful for the security he provides.

Gertrude lets her glasses fall around her neck and frowns. "Do you take good care of my Charles?"

Flabbergasted, Sarah replies, "Um . . . yes. Well, I mean I try to." She looks up at Chuck, heartened when she sees his approving smile.

"Yeah, she does, Aunt Gerty," he says, placing his hands on her arms. "More than you know."

Her eyes still narrowed in study, Gertrude lets out a hum of indecision. She leans close to Sarah. "And do you love my nephew?"

Chuck chokes in disbelief, gradually turning the choke into a cough. "You know," he begins timidly, "we actually haven't really been dating that long, so I don't know if that's really such a fair question to ask of her, Aunt Gerty. It's kind of on-the-spot and all that . . ."

Sarah, wide-eyed with fear, stares at Gertrude. As the older woman sizes her up, she can no longer hear Chuck's voice, only the furious beating of her own heart.

A crossroad, and so many directions.

But the intensity in Gertrude's eyes brings clarity.

"Absolutely," she breathes softly.

Instantly, the octogenarian relaxes, a broad grin coming to her face. Chuck's grip on her arms loosens, and Sarah can feel his eyes on her.

"Well, dearie, you take care of my boy. You hear?" Sarah nods dutifully, smiling, and Gertrude turns to Chuck. "This one's a keeper!" she shouts gleefully before shuffling off. As she goes, she mumbles, "I'm going to go find that Casey boy. He was such a nice young man."

"Oh!" Chuck shouts to her retreating form. "I think I saw him over by the DJ."

Gertrude waves a hand at them as she leaves.

Without looking at him, Sarah takes Chuck's hand in hers and drags him off toward the dance floor again.

"She's not as bad as you described her."

* * *

As she and Chuck are standing and talking playfully near the dance floor, Devon comes up behind Chuck and claps him on the shoulder. "So is it going to be your turn soon, Chuckles?" he asks with his characteristic wide grin.

Ellie sidles up to the three of them and laces her arm through Sarah's. "Yeah, are there wedding bells for you two in the near future?"

Chuck laughs nervously, his face red. He studiously avoids Sarah's eyes, intensely interested in his glass of champagne. "I don't know. We haven't really discussed it. Or even thought about it really."

Something about the way he says it, the sadness laced through his voice that Ellie and Devon don't pick up on, that makes Sarah's truthful side come out. She turns to Ellie with a smile and says, "At least not together."

Ellie's eyes widen in delight, and Sarah can tell she's holding in an overjoyed squeal. "Oh, my God," she whispers. "Details, details!"

Sarah glances at Chuck, whose eyebrows are raised in surprise. Luckily, he keeps quiet, and she's able to say in an undertone, "Later. We don't want to freak out the boys with even more wedding talk." In a louder voice, she says, "I'm so sorry. I've been totally remiss in my bridesmaid duties. Do you need anything? A drink? Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Chuck's expression grows even more perplexed. "Do I want to know?"

"No, bro," Awesome shakes his head, "you don't."

Ellie laughs. "No, I'm fabulous right now! And don't worry, Sarah. You have been a wonderful bridesmaid!"

The conversation drifts off to other things when as Morgan and Anna join in. Sarah lets her mind wander, but she's pulled back in when Chuck catches her eye. Instead of returning to the conversation, though, she feels as though everyone, everything else – the wedding, the lights, the gowns – fades away. She can plainly see the question he can't ask. And, falling into his eyes, all she can think about is everything she wants to share with him, all the plans and all the dreams.

She wants to tell him that she won't wear white because of what it symbolizes, and he doesn't deserve a deceitful bride. She wants to tell him that he will wear a smart, three-piece suit, because she loves him in well-tailored clothes. She wants to tell him that it will be small, because she doesn't like crowds, and he doesn't have a lot of friends anyways, but that that's all right, because the friends and family they do have mean more than the world to her. She wants to tell him all this, but the words stick in her throat, her courage along with it.

* * *

Sarah hovers near back of the hall, champagne in her hand, watching the guests. Her gaze narrows as it zeroes in on Chuck, talking to a petite brunette in a green dress. Her heart tightens inside her chest, and she tears her eyes from the scene. She twists away, toward the cookie table, laden with plates of elaborately decorated desserts.

She reaches out for a peanut butter blossom when a man walks up beside her.

"Can you recommend something good?" he asks, and she doesn't have to look up to know it's Chuck.

Sarah smiles. Setting down her champagne, she turns to him and lifts the blossom to his lips. He bites into it, his eyes sparkling. With a laugh, she shoves the whole cookie into his mouth, pressing her fingers against his closed lips. His eyes widen with surprise, but he laughs, sending cookie crumbs sputtering.

He chews slowly, exaggeratedly, finally swallowing. "Oh, you did not just do that," he says playfully, hooking an arm around her waist.

Placing her palms on his chest, she lets him drag her closer. "I believe I did."

"Well, then . . ." Without taking his eyes off her, he grabs a cookie off the table and offers it to her. "Miss Walker, I think it's time you experience a little thing known as Bartowski retribution . . ."

She takes a small bite, and – is it crazy that a stupid cookie tastes this delicious? She's smiling like a fool, and Chuck's gaze has this intense pull on her own, and, oh God, is she blushing?

She _is_. And the realization makes the heat creep into her cheeks even faster.

He offers her a second bite and then finishes off the cookie himself, continuing to hold her stare. Starting to feel uncomfortable, she breaks the gaze and turns away from him to look toward the dance floor.

Chuck scoots closer to her and asks quietly, "So why were you over here all by yourself?"

She shrugs, sneaking a glance at him. "You were kind of making the rounds, flir-talking to everyone you know . . ."

He doesn't say anything, just gives her that look, that look that says too much. It's the one that tells her if they were dating, she'd never have to worry about him flirting with other girls, that she'd never have to worry about whether he'd stray, because his life, his thoughts, his whole being would be so entirely wrapped up in her that he could never even spare a glance at another girl.

He fixes that look on her long enough to cause her cheeks to burn yet again. She shuffles back and forth on her feet. To keep her embarrassment from escalating even further, she asks, "Want to dance?"

"I was hoping you'd never ask."

She laughs at the unexpected response. "What?"

He gestures to the guests on the dance floor. "I've only had two drinks. I usually insist on achieving a much higher level of intoxication before purposefully making a fool out of myself."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Usually?"

He beams and holds out his hand. "You asked very nicely."

Smiling, she takes his hand and follows him to the dance floor. A song she doesn't recognize is playing, but he pulls her close. She leans her cheek against his, surprised at how content she feels in his arms. He's quiet during the dance, allowing her to listen to the song's lyrics.

_Could the skies be any bluer than they are?  
Could our smiles be any warmer,  
Kiss be any sweeter if we were in love?  
And could we seem any closer to a star?  
Could we feel more than we're feeling,__  
Dream more than we're dreaming if we were in love?_

_If we were in love, you'd think we'd know it.  
When people are in love, they tend to show it.  
Could the days fly any faster than they do?  
Could I be more than I'm being,  
See more than I'm seeing when I look at you?_

_Could the sun shine any brighter up above?  
If the wonder of a kiss is as wonderful as this,  
Just imagine how you'd love me,  
How I'd love you,  
If we were in love._

The song ends too quickly, and Sarah doesn't want to leave his arms. She curses silently when "YMCA" starts to play, because fast songs mean less contact, less intimacy. And in this case, it means more noise and more giddiness from the rest of the guests on the dance floor.

Impulsively, she grabs him by the hand and drags him outside into the cool night air.

The surprised look on Chuck's face only makes her more nervous. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath, hoping she can find the proper words, and all the while Chuck's standing there, waiting for her to offer a decent explanation for why she dragged him away from the reception.

"I finished the book," is what comes out.

Damn, _damn_. Could she be any more awkward?

Chuck laughs. "Is that what you wanted to tell me? How'd you even have time during the past few days, anyway?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"That's not what you wanted to tell me?"

"No, that didn't come out right," she clarifies.

She sighs. Why does he have to look so darn cute with his hands in his pockets and his vest unbuttoned and that ridiculously adorable smile?

Feeling flustered, embarrassed, and vulnerable, she sits down onto the top step and rests her chin against her hand.

He sits down next to her. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

She snorts softly. Talk. She's so bad at talking. Looking over at him, the lamplight shining on his face, she realizes just how much time she's wasted trying to talk. She's never been good at finding the right words. So she does the only thing she can think of to make him understand.

She kisses him.

She leans forward to capture his lips, bringing a hand up to his cheek to keep him from pulling away. It's the strangest kiss she's ever given, because he barely responds. Besides his lips on hers, and his tongue tentatively exploring, he doesn't take her in his arms or tangle his fingers into her hair or touch her at all. She clutches his open vest with her other hand, pulling him even closer.

Someone clears their throat. Chuck breaks off and the kiss and looks at the intruder. Sarah, her face red with embarrassment and anger, can only look at the ground, still hanging onto Chuck's shirt.

"Jordan sent me to find you," Casey says gently. "They're starting the bridal dance."

"Thanks, Case," Chuck says, his eyes on the ground and his chest heaving. "We'll be there in a minute."

Casey grunts and retreats inside the reception hall. Chuck stands and offers Sarah his hand. She regards it sadly for a moment before standing on her own. As much as she wants to stay outside, for the solitude, for the cool air to clear her head, she doesn't have that option. She's a bridesmaid; she needs to be there for the bridal dance.

Sarah smoothes the wrinkles in her dress and, without a glance at Chuck, walks back inside.

* * *

Sarah lies stretched on the couch, reading book number eight on Chuck's list. It's Friday night, a day she now loves because it's "Battlestar" night. She and Chuck pop some popcorn, curl up with a blanket on the couch, and spend one glorious hour watching a science fiction television show. It's completely ridiculous and completely amazing.

She looks up when Chuck walks in, but her smile instantly fades as she takes in his jacket and messenger bag. Sitting up, she shakes her head incredulously and asks, "Where are you going?" Because there's only half an hour before "Battlestar" begins, and where could he be going for half an hour? Ellie and Awesome are still on their honeymoon, which leaves only one plausible possibility.

She squeezes her eyes shut and sighs. "I can't believe you're going to Morgan's." He at least has the decency to look ashamed. "Why can't he just come here and watch? You know he's welcome here all the time," she pleads. "Well," she adds, "most of the time."

He shrugs apologetically. "It's not you, really. It's just . . . I needed a night off, you know?"

She runs a hand through her hair, not quite comprehending his words. Because it sounded like . . . "You needed a night off from me?"

Shaking his head, Chuck zips up his jacket and turns toward the door. "You know that's not what I meant."

She sets her book down and gets up to follow him. "No," she says emphatically. "No, Chuck Bartowski, I did not know you didn't mean that. How would I have known that?"

"Look, it's no big deal," he says, pausing in his steps. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Feeling the tears start to form behind her eyes, she looks up at the ceiling and wills them not to come. "I don't care where you go, Chuck. I care about what you said."

"Why?" he asks, almost like he can't resist baiting her.

"Because obviously something's bothering you," she replies, unable to keep her voice from rising.

He swivels around, fire in his eyes. "And why do you care so much?"

_Because I love you, dumb ass!_, she wants to shout.

But he doesn't get it. He really doesn't get it. She had thought her love for him was so glaringly obvious, so unmistakably present in every word she uttered, in every move she took.

But he doesn't see. And the look in his eyes is too challenging for her tonight.

In a defeated voice, she says, "Just forget it. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She slumps back onto the couch.

Stepping back toward her, he says softly, "Look, I'm sorry. It's just, the wedding last weekend really wore me out, and I needed to just relax tonight. I thought I could go over to Morgan's and just be myself, no cover, no pretending."

Even as he makes his excuses, she doesn't understand. It's just them tonight. There would have been no cover or pretending. She doesn't understand why he's so upset.

It's just _them_.

She grabs the blanket and pulls it back over her lap. "Just go."

Pursing his lips regretfully, he nods. "Fine," he says with a hint of sadness. "Good night." He doesn't move, waiting for her to respond. But Sarah, ever obstinate, won't give him the satisfaction. "I'll be back late probably."

And he's out the door.

She turns her eyes up the door shuts, irrationally feeling like he's walking out of her life. And twenty minutes later, when she settles down to watch "Battlestar Galactica" without him, she's no closer to understanding his motivations.

She had thought he had known. She had thought he'd always be the one fighting for them.

When the episode ends, and she's still all alone in the dark, an empty popcorn bowl next to her on the couch, she feels so incredibly empty, _the world_ feels so incredibly empty without his presence. It weighs down on her, crushing her, and she knows she can't live like this. She can't live if he's not by her side, trusting her, protecting her, _loving_ her.

There's only one thing to do:

Fight.


	6. The Revelation

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This is my holiday gift. :)

I apologize if the Polish phrases are wrong. My knowledge of the language extends to a toast and a few curse words, so I had to resort to the internet for these, lol. But I like that it's becoming a trend that Sarah's character to have a working knowledge of the language and/or an ethnic background.

Last thing (I think, I probably missed something), but thanks for all the reviews so far! I really appreciate them, and it's nice to hear from readers. That being said, I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.

_

* * *

No, I don't want to wait forever.  
No, I don't want to wait forever.  
In the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire.  
The only resolution and the only joy is the faint spark of forgiveness in your eye._

A bright smile lights up Sarah's face as Chuck's ringtone sounds from her phone. She grabs the cell from the counter and holds it to her ear.

"Hey, Chuck!"

The silence that greets her gives her chills.

"Sarah Walker." The voice is a clear tenor with a Portuguese accent, and it's somehow familiar. "Or should I say Adriana Adarga?"

Sarah sinks onto a chair, her heart dropping even more rapidly.

The memories come back in a rush: Quintal, Portugal, 2003.

She presses her hand to her forehead. This can't be happening.

"What do you want?" she asks, trying to keep her voice even, but she can't, because it's Chuck, and Chuck means more to her than anything else in the world ever could.

"I have your boyfriend here. He's being very cooperative. Say hi, Charles." She can hear muffled cries, but as she protests, Quintal quickly continues, "Don't worry. I won't hurt him. I'll give him back in exchange for you."

She swallows and presses the call button on her watch to alert Casey. "I'm the ransom? What do you want with me?" She already knows the answer but asks it to prolong the conversation, to put off any ill treatment of Chuck.

"I think you know, Adriana. You killed my brother. I just want to return the favor," Quintal says conversationally.

"That's supposed to be incentive? Why would I willingly go to my own death?" It's a bluff, because she's entirely willing to go to her own death if it means saving Chuck's life. She'd do it in a heartbeat if it meant he'd have even one more shot at a normal life.

"Because if you don't, I'll kill him," he states simply. His voice deadly, he adds, "You have 24 hours."

The connection goes dead. Sarah stares at the tiled floor of the yogurt shop, her breathing ragged with fear. How could this have happened right under her nose? She's his _protector_. The whole point of them moving in together was so that she could better care for him, and here she is letting him down.

A sudden image of Chuck, beaten and bloody, floods her mind, hardens her resolve. She runs to the basement, grabs a spare duffel bag already packed with weapons and gear, and returns to the main shop to hastily close up. She doesn't think of proper procedures, or of consequences. All she cares about is getting to him and getting him safe. Her mind is in this one-track mode when she exits the shop and runs straight into Casey.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, the NSA agent gruffly leads her back inside. She protests weakly, because somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she needs him and because it's such an effort to not break down, and he barely flinches when her fists connect with his chest.

"All right. What's going on?" he asks, more serious than she's ever seen him.

"It's Chuck," she chokes out. "They've got Chuck."

"Who? Who has him?"

Sarah runs a shaking hand through her hair. "A few years ago, I was on a mission in Portugal. My assignment was to take out the leaders of a small, factious political group. I used an alias, but somehow one of the leaders' brothers found me. He's got Chuck. He's got him and he wants me." She's close to hysterics now, close to busting down the door of the Orange Orange and doing whatever it takes to find him.

"You have to calm down, Walker," Casey advises. "We're never going to be able to find him like this."

She glares. "I can't just leave him."

"I'm not suggesting that. But I do think that we need some back-up." Taking her firmly by the arm, he pulls her back to the freezer and down to the Castle.

Not for the first time, Sarah's glad she has John Casey for a partner.

* * *

Her heart's beating so loudly that she almost can't hear anything else, and she feels like it might rocket out of her chest at any moment. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down her forehead, into her eyebrow. She wipes it away before returning her hand to the trigger of her sniper rifle. Casey, at the end of the street, across from the building where Quintal has hidden Chuck, signals to her. The team in front has gone in, and it should only be a few more minutes before Quintal comes charging out the back, hopefully dragging Chuck.

She hates this waiting, though. She hates being stuck on a rooftop just twiddling her fingers. She needs to save him, she needs to _do_ something. She wants to be the one rushing in with no fear, a gun in each hand and two more tucked into her waistband.

She shakes her head, willing the negative energy away as she turns her attention back to Quintal's doorway.

"Get ready, Walker," Casey barks through the earpiece.

Instinctively, she tenses, lining up her shot. And sure enough, a few seconds later, Quintal barges into the alleyway, dragging Chuck, who has a wire tie around his wrists, by his shirt collar. Casey, dressed in mission black, jumps out from behind the dumpster, and, even from a hundred and fifty feet away, she can see how much her partner enjoys having the element of surprise.

Quintal jumps, immediately dragging Chuck in front of him as a shield and bringing a gun up to his temple.

Shit. This is what she was afraid of.

By Quintal's body language, he's shouting something to Casey as he drags Chuck backwards down the alley, closer to her hiding spot.

Casey, ever calm in a life-threatening situation, even if it's Chuck's life, replies coolly, "All right, pal. Don't get your britches in a bunch. See . . . I'm putting my weapon down."

Sarah scoffs at how quickly he relents.

There's more shouting, and Casey shrugs, saying, "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But I do know that my partner's itching to get at you. She's not real happy with you, pal. Mind explaining why you took a computer geek from the Buy More?"

There's the signal.

Quintal's so close by now that she doesn't even need the rifle. Switching gears quickly, she abandons it in favor of her handgun, tucked easily into the waistband of her jeans. She rockets off an easy shot, directly into his right shoulder blade, and Quintal, in his shock and pain, releases Chuck. As soon as the bullet leaves its chamber, Sarah's up and running, across the rooftops until she reaches the spot directly above the dazed Quintal.

With a throaty, almost primal, cry, Sarah catapults herself off of the roof ledge, onto the fire escape, and finally on top of Quintal, throwing him to the ground. His body breaks her fall, and she uses her momentum to roll off of him and into a crouch. Without stopping to think, she launches herself back at him, her punch landing squarely on his jaw. He cries out as his head knocks against the pavement.

Letting her rage run unchallenged, she punches him again, over and over. Before she knows it, the tears are cascading down her face, and her chest is racking with sobs. There are blood splatters all over, and she can't tell if they're from Quintal's face or her own hands, the knuckles having split many punches ago.

A mighty, shaking sob courses through her as someone's hand grips the collar of her jacket and drags her off of Quintal's still body. She sags onto her knees, burying her face in her bloody hands, and weeps.

She cries because she lost control so easily, so readily, because she let her passion and her fury rule her senses, because the man she loves now looks at her in horror.

Chuck is still lying on his back, propping himself by his forearms, a mixture of pity and revulsion in his features.

And yet she continues to cry, unable to keep the sobs from racking her frame. She lets the emotions course through her until she's spent, too exhausted to even wring any more tears from her eyes. When she casts a wary glance up, she sees that she's alone in the alleyway. Even the commotion on the main street – the ambulances, the team members running around cleaning up – doesn't make her feel less alone.

The blood from the fight is splattered all over the pavement just a few feet away, and the sight almost sets her off again. But with a monstrous effort, one that seems to take all her remaining strength, she picks herself off the ground, not even bothering to brush off her clothes. When she reaches the end of the alleyway, her gaze immediately finds him, sitting calmly in the back of an ambulance, swinging his legs slightly as a paramedic checks him for injuries.

She sighs. She wants to run. She wants to run far away and never look back, but there's no strength left in her. At the very least, she knows she'll never be able to face him, not until she has time to recoup.

Their unique relationship affects every aspect of her life. What happened today, what she did for him, what she wasn't able to keep under control because of her feelings for him, all that could alter their already-precarious relationship.

She had promised to fight for him, and no, she hadn't lived up to that promise because she had feared things exactly like this would happen.

Leaning against the wall of the building for support, she tries to catch her breath and clear her head. This isn't good. This is anything but good. She lifts her eyes as Casey walks toward her.

"You need to get looked at," he says, indicating her shredded hands, and his voice holds an unusual amount of concern.

She shakes him off with an unconvincing, "I'm fine."

"Well," he shrugs, "better than his face, at any rate."

Looking sideways at him, she allows herself a half-smile. Her amusement doesn't last long. "I'm sorry. I lost control."

"Coulda happened to anyone. Coulda tripped over his own feet for all we know."

"Casey," she says, touched, "you don't have to protect me."

He turns to look her in the eye. "You're my partner, Walker." And that's enough of an explanation for either of them.

"How is he?" She lifts her chin in Chuck's direction.

Casey frowns. "He's doing all right, given the circumstances. He'll be okay."

Looking down at her sneakers, rubbing the toe of her right one into the bits of gravel coasting the pavement, she says hesitantly, "I can't talk to him right now."

He nods. "I'll take him back to the Orange Orange, and we'll report to Beckman. I'll tell her that you were supervising the clean-up."

Sarah starts to walk back down the alley. "Thank you, Casey. I'll call to check in later tonight."

* * *

Sarah groans quietly in exhaustion and pain as she steps through the door and into the darkened apartment, but she stops immediately when she notices Chuck stretched out on the couch. He sits up as she walks in, unable to pretend that he was doing anything other than waiting up for her.

They pause in an uncomfortable staring match, he unwilling to ask about her whereabouts and she unwilling to explain. Finally, breaking under the pressure, she sinks down onto the floor, her back against the front door.

She swipes her hair away from her forehead with a stiff, blood-covered hand. She had known from experience that stains ran deeper than skin-deep, so she hadn't even bothered trying to wash away the evidence of that afternoon.

"Are you all right?" She asks it more for something to say than for any other reason. After she had gotten over the initial shock of his presence, she could discern that he was perfectly fine, at least physically.

"I'm fine," he says, shaking off her concern. "I've just been worried, that's all."

She glances at her feet, embarrassed. "Did Beckman say anything about me not being at the meeting?"

"Casey told her you were still at the clean-up."

Even in the dimness, she can recognize his look, the one that lets her know that he doesn't quite believe the story.

"What did she say? About Quintal, I mean."

Chuck sighs, leaning back against the cushions. "She's withholding an official opinion until tomorrow. We have a meeting during my lunch break. But preliminary findings suggest that the incident is unrelated to the Intersect."

He's talking like he doesn't know her, like he's explaining something foreign to her. The distance in his words stings.

"You know it had nothing to do with you," she says, her voice quiet but harsh. "Quintal wanted to get at me."

Chuck purses his lips and levels his gaze at her. "Why'd you leave, Sarah?"

She hears what he leaves unsaid: _Why'd you leave _me_?_

Closing her eyes, she leans her head against the door. "Do you know what it was like for me, thinking that you were holed up in a dungy room somewhere, with a bag over your head and ropes around your wrists, being tortured because of me? Do you know what it felt like not to drop everything and rush after you?"

With a heavy sigh, he comes over to sit next to her. "I wasn't tortured, Sarah," he reassures her. "As long as I kept quiet, they didn't touch me. Besides, both of us have been in our fair share of scrapes, haven't we?"

"That's different," she says, shaking her head. "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me."

"You can't blame yourself. I won't let you." She chuckles lightly, but his expression suddenly turns serious. "Sarah, your hands," he gasps, taking them gently into his own. "Why didn't you have these looked at?"

She shakes her head and shrugs. "I . . . I just . . . got distracted." It's a pathetic excuse, but she can't possibly explain to him how impossible it is to wash off a stain like that.

Chuck stands, puts his arms around her, and lifts her to her feet. "Come on," he says, pulling her towards the hall. "Go wait in the bathroom. I'll go get the first aid kit."

"Chuck." She turns to face him, a hand on his chest. He hates blood. He hates the constant reminders that they are not, and they never will be, normal. And yet here he is, offering to face both of those things so he can take care of her, something she's failed to do for herself.

He pauses and, seeming to understand her look, walks down the hall towards the closet. She wanders into the bathroom and flips on the light. Wincing, she hoists herself up onto the countertop beside the sink. Chuck appears a minute later, clutching the first aid kit. He sets it down on the opposite side of the counter and gets to work, gently taking her hands and washing them with soap.

Sarah grimaces as the crusted layer of blood sloughs off, leaving her hands raw and exposed. Her fingers are stiff from both the blood and the cold, and even just flexing them slowly causes her pain. To get her mind off of it, she focuses on him. He stands away from her, but even from a foot or two away, she can smell his distinct scent, so recognizable from living with him every day. She smells it on his clothes when it's her turn to do the laundry, and it stays on the pillow even after he wakes up.

Looking up, she watches his face, so intent and concerned as he works. That's when she notices the small gash, surrounded by a dark, purpling bruise, just in front of his left temple. The urge to reach out and assess the damage is strong, and she's glad that he has hold of her hands.

"God, Chuck," she gasps faintly, and he finally looks at her. "What happened to your head?"

"They knocked me out when they took me," he tells her calmly, like getting kidnapped is an everyday occurrence for him.

Overwhelmed with guilt, she turns her eyes away.

As he dries her hands, he bends his head to examine the cuts. "Sarah," he says firmly, "you need to get stitched up."

"I'm fine," she responds without even thinking. It's a line that's become second nature to her since she joined the agency over a decade ago.

"You're a spy, not a superhero," he frowns. "And even they needed help sometimes."

Something within her shifts. Something deep down and inexplicable has been switched on, and the change makes her feel lightheaded.

She stares at him, searching those bottomless eyes, taking her fill of every feature, those features she's long since memorized. He's oblivious to her scrutiny as he tenderly bandages her hands.

"I can't do this anymore," she breathes quickly.

He pauses in his doctoring. "Are you all right? Am I hurting you?"

Leaning closer, she shakes her head. "I don't want to waste any more time, Chuck."

His gaze is questioning, and his hands tremble almost indiscernibly. Swallowing nervously, he asks, "What are you saying, Sarah?"

"We live dangerous lives, Chuck. I . . . I thought I lost you today." She briefly squeezes her eyes shut. Why is this so difficult for her to say? "I've lived in this business long enough to know, but today was the first time I realized how easily everything could be taken away." She lifts her eyes in the hopes he'll understand and save her from further explanation.

"But what are you saying?" he repeats softly.

Reaching out for him, she pulls him closer and hopes he can't hear the wild beating of her heart. "I'm saying that you deserve to know how I feel about you," she whispers. He bows his head towards her shoulder, as if he can't believe her words. She raises a bandaged hand to his neck. "And even if we don't get enough time," she continues softly, "even if we only get a few years, or a few months even, then I'll take it, because it's more than I deserve."

Chuck lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze, and in his eyes she can see that he wants forever. She does, too. She's just having trouble wrapping her head around that concept at the moment, especially when he's close enough for her to smell the gel he uses in his hair. The way he looks at her, it's almost like he's asking for permission.

She moistens her lips. "If you'll have me," she whispers.

He smiles widely, and when he kisses her, her world almost shatters with the force of the collision.

* * *

He's been sleeping for an hour now, his breathing steady and tranquil. His arms are loosely draped over her, like they have been every night before. But it's different tonight.

She's been staring at him since he fell asleep, awed at the peaceful expression on his face. She wishes she could feel that, wishes she could be as fearless as he is in the face of love. Brushing a curl off his forehead, Sarah is struck by the irony of the situation. She's spent the entirety of her adult life building up her defenses, laughing in the face of danger, banishing fear from her heart. Yet here she is, sleeping beside a man whose smile can make her go weak in the knees, whose adorable, endearing demeanor scares her more than any threat of torture or risk of death.

She dreads the coming of the morning because she knows what it will bring. He wants things she's not sure she can give.

But as she looks at him, as she runs a sore finger over his bare chest, she wonders if she can't give those things, or if she's simply too scared.

Her hair falling in waves across his chest, Sarah inclines her head, places a light kiss on his collarbone, and settles back against him with a sigh. She wants different things from life now than she thought she did a year or two ago. That must mean something.

All this time she's wasted being afraid, all the time she could have had with him, all the cover dates that could have been real . . .

Sarah Walker is a coward. And the thing about cowards and heroes is that they die alone, too afraid to open themselves up.

She closes her eyes, breathing in his scent. She can't be afraid anymore. She can't cling to an outdated worldview when Chuck's beside her every day, challenging her to change her perspective.

No fear.

That's what she needs.

Expelling the fear from her heart, Sarah places another kiss on the underside of his chin. Calmer, she shuts her eyes in an attempt to sleep.

* * *

The thin morning light hits her in a burst as she slides open the curtains. She loves the view from their bedroom, but today she's using it to escape the view behind her. Even with her back turned to him, she can't fight the acute awareness that Chuck is stretched out beneath the sheets, his curly hair adorably tousled, one arm snaking beneath the pillow.

She sighs quietly as she pushes back the sleeves of Chuck's button-down. Her hands are stiff and sore from sleeping, and the bandages need to be changed, but she can't bring herself to move from this spot.

Sarah likes the early mornings. They're brief moments of calm, of stillness. She's always in motion, always running, and always away from _him_. She sighs. This should be the happiest day of her life, the day when she can finally lay down all her burdens, the weight that she's been carrying for over a year and a half.

But instead, there's a deep sadness residing within her. There's a pang telling her that she doesn't deserve the happiness he promises. And there's an ache. An ache for a future for which she desperately longs but doesn't the courage to capture.

She hears him stir behind her, and she stiffens unconsciously. She doesn't know whether to wish that last night never happened or to hope that he'll be kind enough to let them ignore it. But her career has taught her that wishes and hopes are idle. Actions are the only things that matter.

"You want me to make some breakfast?" His voice is soft and content, and she can practically see the smile that's undoubtedly gracing his features.

Without turning to look at him, she replies softly, "No, it's still early. Why don't you just go back to sleep for a little while?"

His sigh is lost in the rustle of sheets. She turns her head just enough to see him pulling on a pair of boxer shorts, and her heart catches in her throat. The sight makes her feel suddenly exposed, even though he's the one who doesn't seem to care how much she sees. And it's not like she didn't see it all last night.

But still she turns her eyes away, back toward the window, out towards the city, her arms crossed in a futile attempt at protection.

Chuck steps beside her, looking like he wants to reach out to her. She's thankful that he holds back.

"Don't do this," he pleads softly, his voice breaking with emotion.

She stares him, stares at the ugly bruise on his forehead, hoping she doesn't betray herself and that those intense eyes that she loves so much can't see right through her. She can see the struggle within him as he swallows, forcing down the emotion threatening to bubble to the surface and spill over.

"Don't build up your walls and shut me out," he implores. "If we're going to do this, you have to let me in. It's not fair to either of us if you're hiding your worries and fears all the time." He pauses, running one hand through his messy hair. "I want all of you, Sarah. That includes everything you're scared of, everything you'd rather hide from me."

If she weren't so scared of hurting him, of destroying him, she'd leap into his arms right now. Instead, she says, "I beat a man to a pulp yesterday because of you." It's a warning, to stay away if he knows what's good for him. But he's Chuck, and he always runs head first into what his heart wants, regardless of the consequences.

He sets his mouth firmly. "You did it to save me."

Searching his eyes, she asks, "Doesn't it scare you that I can do that? What if I did it to you?"

"You won't."

He's so certain, so _sure_.

"What if I did?" she presses, needing to know, needing to needle him into an angry response, maybe hoping he'll just blow up and leave her for good.

Chuck is silent for a moment, his gaze so hard that she's close to crumbling when he finally asks, "Why are you doing this?"

Swallowing nervously, she turns her face back to the window. "Because we can't have what you want us to have. I can't give you that."

He takes a deep breath. "And what is it you think I want?"

Closing her eyes to hide the tears, she whispers, "You want normalcy."

He shakes his head vigorously and takes her arms in an attempt to make her look at him. "No, Sarah, I want _you_." She won't look at him, she can't. If she does, she'll give in in a second. He places a hand on the side of her face and continues pleadingly, "Remember when we first met?" He looks at her until she nods. "You asked me to trust you. That's all I'm asking for right now. I'm asking for your trust, Sarah."

She moistens her lips, fighting the immediate longing to fall into his arms and do exactly as he says. She looks up at him and, her voice trembling, she says, "Every time I look at you, I see goodness, happiness. Every time I look in the mirror, I see destruction, and hate." Pausing, she gathers her thoughts before adding, "All I can think about is how my love could destroy you. How can I wish that upon you?"

Far from shrinking from her, like she expects, he smiles. The idiot _smiles_.

"You love me?" he asks incredulously, his face glowing with joy.

Sarah scoffs. "Is that all you can think about?"

"Yeah," he replies firmly, placing a hand on the back of her neck to get her attention, "it is. Because if you love me, what else matters?" Sensing her doubt, he backs away, his gaze downcast. "Last night," he begins hesitantly, "was that just thank-God-you're-alive sex?" His eyes drift back up to hers, and there's a challenge there. "Or was it something more?"

There was once a time when lying to him was easy, came naturally. But lying to him right now would probably split her in two. "You know what it was, Chuck," she warns softly, trying to get out of answering.

A half-smile plays across his face. "Sometimes I need things explained to me."

She rubs at her forehead. "I meant what I said last night. It was about you," she tells him in a whisper. "It always has been."

Taking a step toward her, he slides his hands beneath her shirt. They come to rest just above her hips, his fingers cool against her skin.

"Then what's the problem?" he asks, smiling. "If we love each other, then we should just be happy. Why are you making us care about things that shouldn't even affect us?"

Sighing, she runs her fingers into his hair. Just the touch is reassuring. "Because they do affect us, Chuck, even if you don't want them to. You don't know what it's like to live in my world. It's cold, and it's harsh, and you don't just leave whenever you feel like it, whenever you decide that love's more important than what you're fighting for." She pauses and glances down in an attempt to steady herself. Her voice is calmer when she continues. "An agent is an agent for life, Chuck. We don't get happy endings. It's hard for us to even imagine them."

His hands slide around her waist until his arms are encircling her. He touches his forehead to hers. "You said last night that we won't have forever but that you'd take what you could get."

To her ears, it sounds like an accusation. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I don't want to hurt you."

He shakes his head, gently shushing her. "No, I know. But I'll take that, too."

Pulling away to look up at him, she questions, "What?"

Chuck steels himself. "I want whatever time I can have with you, whether it's a couple months or a couple years. I want it, Sarah. I want you."

She runs a hand through her hair, walks to the other side of the room, and turns to face him. "So, say that a year from now, I get transferred. Can you honestly tell me that you'd be okay with that?"

"Of course not," he shrugs. "But if you did leave, and I never told you how I really felt, and we never got to explore whatever this crazy thing is between us, then I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

She stares at him, and, even from across the bedroom, she can see the truth in his eyes, the promise of protection.

_No fear_.

She sighs. "I'm not good at relationships. I can't be a normal girlfriend, not like you're used to."

Chuck beams. "I don't care about normal."

She bites her lip and swallows hard to stop the tears from coming. "This is going to take me a long time to figure out. You're going to have to be patient with me."

"Of course," he nods, still grinning like the fool that he is.

For the first time since yesterday morning, Sarah allows herself a smile. He takes that as a good sign and crosses over to her, taking her in his arms. She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"How's your head?" she asks quietly.

"Fine. Your hands?"

"Better. I think I need to change the bandages, though."

He pulls away slightly and takes her hands in his, examining them. "Want me to do that?"

"Uh-uh," she shakes her head. "I can. But why don't you go make some breakfast while I do that and shower?"

"Sure." He kisses her on the forehead. "Pancakes?"

Sarah smiles. "You bet."

She watches as he leaves the bedroom, her heart a million times lighter than it was just a few minutes ago.

* * *

"Agent Walker, if I could speak with you a moment longer."

Sarah pauses, watching Chuck and Casey out of the corner of her eye. Chuck turns one last glance at the screen before reluctantly leaving her alone with the general.

Sarah licks her lips nervously. "Ma'am?"

"Let's not mince words, Sarah," Beckman says firmly. "I know of your attachment to Chuck, and your dedication in retrieving him yesterday was admirable. I'll make no judgment on your personal decisions, but if you two show that much concern for each other's wellbeing and you continue to produce results, as far as the government is concerned, it's not a problem." She pauses, appearing to choose her words. "But I need to know if it's going to be a problem for you."

Thoughtfully, Sarah hooks her thumbs into her waistband. The information floors her. Graham had been a hard-ass, and she had always assumed that Beckman was molded in the same frame. Maybe it's the fact that she, Casey, and Chuck have never produced such outstanding results. Maybe it's that Beckman is finally coming around to Chuck, as a person and a potential agent. Maybe it's that she can see something Sarah can't. Whatever the reason, Beckman is going to lengths to prove that she is not Graham.

"I need to know how Quintal found me," Sarah tells her, "and why he went after Chuck first instead of me."

"Quintal hasn't talked about his contact yet, but we're investigating a possible leak within the agencies." Beckman sighs. "We believe he chose Chuck because of his cover as your boyfriend. Quintal thought if he could get to him, he could get to you."

"The cover's supposed to protect him, not lead bad guys straight to him."

"I know, and let me assure you that we're doing everything we can to make sure that nothing like this happens again. Sarah." Sarah lifts her gaze to meet the general's. "Are you comfortable continuing with this assignment?"

She ignores the general's imperious gaze in favor of contemplating the question. There's no way she can leave Chuck, but if bad guys from her past can get to her, to _him_, so easily, how can she be so selfish as to risk a real relationship with him? They'd been lucky yesterday, but if anything happened to him because of her past connections, she'd never be able to forgive herself. And how could she even think about facing Ellie?

No, it's too dangerous for him.

But that doesn't mean she could ever voluntarily leave him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Beckman nods. "The three of you work well together as a team. I'd rather not lose that."

Sarah's stomach turns as she wonders if she'd ever been so preoccupied with results so as to lose sight of her own humanity. But as Beckman bids her goodbye and signs off, she shakes those thoughts from her head. That's behind her now. Whatever sins lie in her past she's made up for, if only by learning from Chuck, learning how to love.

Chuck and Casey are both waiting for her when she returns upstairs, the former pacing around in an agitated manner, the latter merely leaning against the counter with his thick arms calmly crossed over his broad chest.

Chuck's pacing ceases immediately as she comes into view, and he turns to face her.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine," she replies, venturing a smile. "You should get back to work. Your lunch break's almost over." Chuck's face falls, and she averts her gaze to Casey, hoping he understands the unspoken message.

"Sure," Chuck nods. "See you later." He starts towards the door but pauses when he notices that Casey hasn't moved.

"I'll be over in a few minutes," the NSA agent says gruffly, tilting his chin towards the Buy More.

Chuck nods again, his expression even more crestfallen than before. When he's gone, Casey clears his throat, settling against the counter and watching their asset meander across the plaza.

Sarah leans on the counter beside him, her lips pursed as she watches the same sight. She watches him through the doors of the electronics store before asking, "Do you think I can still protect him?"

Casey lets out a throaty sigh. "You can protect him better than anyone else. No one cares for him more than you do."

"Maybe that's the last thing he needs. Maybe that's exactly why I'm the worst person for this job."

He looks at her now, his gaze boring into her. "Questioning it is only going to drive you crazy."

"So you think I should stay?"

He pauses. "I think leaving would be the worst thing you could do to that kid."

* * *

Chuck groans as Sarah takes his hand and drags him over to the "Classics" section of the Hollywood Video. She smiles at the familiar routine. One of them picks the food, the other picks the movie. He chose Chinese from the restaurant down the block, so it's her turn to choose a movie.

"Come on, Sarah," he says, checking his watch, a watch she can't look out without remembering how crucial it was in locating him and saving his life. "The food's going to be ready in . . . eight minutes."

"Calm down," she advises him as she scans the shelves for the title she's looking for. "I think I know what I want."

Chuck moves behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. "Need I remind you that we have seen _all_ of the Thin Man movies? Twice now, I believe."

Chuckling, she picks up _On the Waterfront_ and shows it to him. "Have you seen this?" He shakes his head. "Good," she replies happily, dragging him towards the front of the store. "Let's go."

An hour later, they'll stretched out on the couch, Sarah half on top of Chuck, brushing her fingers steadily through his hair. Part of her knows she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be giving him the wrong impression, but she justifies it because this is how they've acted almost since they moved in together. She shouldn't have to abandon that just because of one night, although she dreads the inevitable conversation where he questions her feelings.

He scrunches his face up. "This is a depressing movie."

She chuckles softly. "It gets better."

"I hope so, because even sizzling shrimp can't lift me out of this melancholy." He glances at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "That's the last time you pick the movie."

Without taking her eyes from the screen, she runs her fingers down to his neck, a smile on her face. "Just watch the movie."

He listens to her better than he ever does on missions and is quiet the remainder of the film. When he professes how much he liked it, though, he may be taking it a little too far, and she tells him so.

"No, I'm serious," he says. "You were right. I just had to stick it out 'til the end."

She smiles. "Well, I'm glad."

"Are you up for watching my movie now?"

Sarah glances at him, taking in his eagerness, his happiness. It's not fair to lead him on like this.

"Sorry," she replies, moving to rise from the couch. "I'm exhausted. How 'bout tomorrow night?"

"Sure."

She walks toward the hall but looks back when she senses he isn't following. She pauses, knowing that shouldn't bother her, knowing that she should let it go and let him stay up as long as he wants. But a part of her, that irrational, lovesick part of her, knows that she can't sleep without him beside her. So she turns and asks, "You coming?"

Chuck shrugs. "In a little while. I'm not that tired yet." He avoids her eyes, flipping through the channels instead.

"Sure," she swallows, aware of how lucky he is that he's not looking at her, that he can't see the hurt in her eyes.

When she's still awake half an hour later, tossing and turning alone in bed, she suddenly understands how much even his presence does for her. She debates for a moment before wandering back down the hallway and finding him still stretched out on the couch in the living room.

She swipes her bangs away from her forehead. "Are you coming to bed?"

Chuck looks up, and a million things flash through his eyes. Finally, he shuts off the television and sits up. "Yeah," he says quietly, "yeah, I'm coming."

She shuffles back down to the bedroom, pleased when he comes in from the bathroom a few minutes later, changes into his pajamas, and wriggles his way under the covers. She's on her side, her back to him, but he finds a comfortable place against her, his arm draped over her waist.

With him there, she finally feels peaceful enough to drift off to sleep.

There are a thousand contradictory thoughts running through her head when she wakes up, and she finds herself wishing that her mind would give her a break for just a few minutes. Then she recognizes the feel of Chuck's arm draped across her. Smiling sleepily, she turns her head to find him sleeping on his stomach, his face turned toward her.

His lips flutter slightly as he lets out a breath, and she's stunned by how quickly the bad thoughts are chased away. Who knew one man could have such an effect?

Reaching up, she gently touches the curls framing his temple.

"Be patient with me," she whispers, stroking his hair and placing a kiss on his forehead. Thankfully, he's always been a heavy sleeper, and he doesn't stir. "Be patient with me."

* * *

Five days. It's been five days since it happened and she still hasn't talked to him about it, not really. If anything, she's been avoiding him. She's been tense, and cross, and short with him, and he's born it all just like she's come to expect he would.

So now it's Tuesday, and Sarah's sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the Orange Orange counter, eating a large bowl of raspberry frozen yogurt with gummi bears on top. The bell on the door jingles, but she ignores it and takes another bite. Maybe the customer will just go away. This isn't a real yogurt shop anyways.

"Sarah?"

She chokes on a gummi bear at the sound of Ellie's voice and nearly drops her yogurt in her haste to get up and greet Chuck's sister.

"Hey, Ellie! I was just . . ." She sets down the bowl of yogurt, a sheepish look on her face. "How are you?"

"Fine. I actually came to see how you were."

"Why would I be anything but fine?" It's supposed to be a joke, but she can't quite make it come across that way.

Ellie shrugs and replies politely, "You and Chuck just seemed a little off last night at dinner, that's all. I thought you might want to talk while he's not around."

It's funny how indirect proclamations of friendship can disarm her more quickly than any adversary ever could. Sometimes she loves Ellie's big-sister tendencies, and this is one of those times. Smiling, she asks, "Want some yogurt?"

Ellie returns the grin. "I'd love some."

She fills a bowl with lemon yogurt, Ellie's favorite, and covers it with a generous helping of mini chocolate chips. Picking up her own bowl, she takes both over to the nearest table and hands one to Ellie, already sitting down.

"Thanks," the brunette says, digging into the dessert.

The two women eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Ellie looking up in concern every once in a while. The older woman is patient, though, and she waits for Sarah to begin the conversation.

"How did you know you were in love with Devon?"

Ellie looks up in surprise, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "Uh, well, you know his parents are doctors, right?" Sarah nods. "They're pretty well-off. They live in this fantastic house, practically a mansion, blew me away the first time he took me there for a weekend." She chuckles preemptively. "I think I fell in love with him when I first saw that house."

Sarah rolls her eyes. As much as she appreciates Ellie's attempt at light-heartedness, she's really in need of a serious answer right now.

Sensing Sarah's discomfort, Ellie continues in a more sober voice, "Seriously, though, the summer after Devon and I started dating, he was over the apartment a lot. I was worried he and Chuck wouldn't get along. But one night I was cleaning up after dinner, and I looked up to find Devon and Chuck playing video games. They were playing something on his Xbox, just laughing and having a good time." She pauses, a smile on her face. "And I looked at the two of them getting along, and I realized that those were the two guys I wanted in my life."

She looks up at Sarah, concern in her eyes, and asks, "Is that what this is about? Your feelings for Chuck?"

Sarah's gaze wanders, and she gives a half-hearted shrug. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "It's just . . . it's complicated between us, you know?"

Ellie regards her sadly. "So Chuck keeps saying. And no, I don't know." She sighs, swirling her yogurt with her spoon. "Sarah, I apologize if I'm overstepping my bounds here, but you guys have been living together for six months now. If you weren't certain of your feelings, why did you agree to move in with him?"

Ellie has a unique, gentle way of making her feel ashamed. "I like being near him," she confesses softly. Looking up, she adds, "I know you probably think I've been stringing Chuck along –"

"No," Ellie assures her, "I don't think that at all. I just hope you didn't rush into something because Chuck pressured you."

"Ellie, you know him. He's the sweetest guy on the planet. He'd probably stop breathing if he thought it made me uncomfortable."

Ellie's quiet, and Sarah's heart nearly breaks at the sadness in her eyes. "Then what's the problem?"

Shrugging sadly, she explains, "I'm not good at this sort of thing. I don't talk about my feelings." She takes a breath to recoup and try again. "Your brother's a fantastic guy." At this, Ellie gives her a look like, 'Darn right he is, and you better not hurt him,' which just serves to make Sarah even more nervous. "Sometimes I think he has these ideas of what a normal relationship looks like, and I just can't give him that. I'm screwed up, Ellie. I'm . . . emotionally stunted. I can't be the loving girlfriend he deserves."

"Sarah," Ellie says patiently, an understanding smile on her face, "don't you think he should decide that for himself?"

"What if, in a year or two, he decides that that's not good enough anymore?"

"Uh-uh," responds Ellie ardently, waving her plastic spoon for emphasis. "He loves you, Sarah. Nothing you can do will ever change that."

The thought makes her smile and calms the doubt in her heart. Ellie's right. She's been relying on herself for too long. It's time to trust someone else, someone who cares about her.

* * *

CIA agents are all about action. But even so, Sarah's finding it hard to put action to her convictions. Two days after her conversation with Ellie, she still hasn't talked to Chuck about her feelings, about the progression of their relationship. He's been patient, acting as he always has since they began living together.

So it doesn't surprise her when he comes into the Orange Orange on his lunch break. What surprises her is that he's not wearing his Nerd Herd uniform.

"Chuck," Sarah greets, surprised but happy. "What's going on?"

He follows her gaze and looks down at his jeans and t-shirt. "What? Oh, nothing."

She stares at him until he loses his cool and grins, giving away what she wants to know. Coming around the counter, she asks, "What are you up to, Mr. Bartowski?"

Chuck steps towards her, his characteristic grin lighting up his eyes. He places his hands on the counter on either side of her, so close she can barely breathe. "I have a surprise for you."

She narrows her eyes. This isn't what she'd expected at all. "Oh, yeah?" she asks, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. "What kind of surprise?"

"You have to close up shop and come with me to find out."

Sarah swallows. The intensity in his gaze makes her heart race, her throat feel dry. She's never seen him so bold, and the sight unnerves her. She shakes her head. "I can't just leave."

His confidence falters, but he manages to challenge her. "Sarah, this isn't even a real yogurt shop. So what's the problem?" When she doesn't answer, he takes a step back, his disappointment palpable.

The look in his eyes is enough to break her heart. He thinks she doesn't trust him.

_No fear_.

She takes his hand. "All right, Chuck. Let's go."

He breaks out into a ridiculous grin. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," she nods, reaching a hand behind his neck and playing with his curls. "I mean it."

Ten minutes later, they're in the Nerd Herder speeding down the highway. Chuck still won't tell her where they're going. The only thing he would say is that they'd be gone the whole weekend. He had packed for her, too, and their bags are in the backseat, along with a few grocery bags full of food. The warmth of the summer afternoon makes her sleepy, and when he tells her that they'll be on the road for a few hours, she settles against the seat and closes her eyes.

She wakes a little while later, her eyes still heavy in the afternoon heat. Groggy, she looks over at Chuck, who wears a calm smile on his face.

"What's that smile for?" she asks.

He glances over and replies, "When you're really tired, you talk in your sleep."

Sarah feels like the car drops out from under her, like she goes from traveling at sixty miles per hour to zero in the space of a second. Keeping her voice even, she manages to ask, "And what did I say?"

He shrugs, that enigmatic smile still present. "I couldn't tell. It's a different language."

Her stomach unclenches in relief. Although she hadn't been aware of that particular nighttime quirk, it's not the worst thing. And as Bryce had been her last bedfellow and he'd never told her about it, she has to conclude that it's a recent development.

"What's it sound like?" she asks.

"Mmm . . . some kind of Eastern European. Hungarian, maybe Polish."

She smiles. Definitely Polish. One of the first languages she'd learned in the CIA. She knows it so well she can practically think in Polish.

"Jestem w Tobie zakochany*," Sarah says quietly, looking at him sideways.

His brows narrow in curiosity. "What does that mean?"

She chuckles. "Figure it out." She shifts in her seat, watching the scenery go by for a while in silence. After another few miles, she ventures, "Do you really think this can work?"

She sneaks a glance at him, suddenly dismayed by the frown on his face.

"I do," he responds softly, not taking his eyes from the road. "I have to. Don't you?"

"How can I? With everything I've seen in my line of work, I've practically been trained for disappointment." She sighs, feeling utterly inadequate next to a man whose heart has such a stunning capacity for love. "But you make me want to try."

Smiling, Chuck reaches over and takes her hand, still bruised from last week, the gashes not quite healed. He glances at her before looking back at the road. "Then that's all I can ask for."

* * *

Sarah meanders slowly around the cabin, her arms crossed against her chest, looking out at the surrounding trees. Chuck's taken her a few hours northwest, to a secluded campground he said his family used to go to when he was younger. After they'd gotten settled in, Sarah had grabbed him and taken him on a hike until it had gotten too dark to see five feet in front of them. By now, he's probably passed out on the bed, exhausted, and she's out here, sorting through the web of emotions she's felt for the past week.

It's not fair, really, that he can make her feel so much, so intensely. She's used to skating through life, never giving a second thought to what's going on in her heart. But Chuck . . . Chuck makes her want to stop and finally take the time to _live_.

Taking one last deep breath, Sarah walks up the steps to the front porch of the cabin and heads inside. She finds Chuck in the bedroom, reading a book. Stopping in the doorway, she leans against it, her arms crossed.

He glances up, quickly returning his eyes to the page. "How was your walk? Perimeter secure?" he teases, a smirk on his lips.

She chuckles, watching as he sets down his book, sits up, and scoots over to the edge.

"Fine," she says, "I figured I'd find you either already asleep or frantically communicating with the outside world."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head with a smile. "I promised you no laptop, no phone, no nothing, and I fully intend on keeping that promise."

Sarah doesn't answer right away. He didn't need to do that for her, didn't need to do any of this. The fact that he has only makes her fall even deeper. She walks over to the bed and sits on his lap, straddling his legs. He looks uncertain, but his arms slide confidently around her waist and hold her tight.

Twirling a curl around her forefinger, she asks, "What kind of man gives up his whole weekend to take care of me, to make sure that I'm okay?" As he's about to answer, she cuts him off. "And don't try to lie to me. I know you had plans with Morgan."

"You sound surprised," he exhales, his breath warm on her neck. "But how could you not have known?"

She stares at him, running a finger down the side of his face. Stunned into honesty, she confesses, "I'm only surprised that someone like you could love someone like me."

He smiles and gives her a swift kiss on the lips. "You underestimate yourself, you know that?" He asks, and he's kissing her before she has a chance to refute the allegation.

She had intended to come in and talk to him, but, too wrapped up in the feel of his mouth against hers, she doesn't stop him. There'll be time to talk in the morning. His lips move leisurely down to her neck, heading towards that weak spot he'd found last week, and the feeling sends shockwaves coursing through her.

Besieged by the sensations brought on by his touch, her eyes flutter closed as she wraps her arms around his neck and murmurs huskily in his ear. "Make love to me."

He pauses abruptly in his intrepid exploration and raises a timid gaze to hers. "Are you, uh, are you sure?" he asks nervously.

She swallows and looks at him. With a hesitant smile, she says, "I've spent the past week, almost the past two years, agonizing over my relationship with you. Yes, Chuck, I'm sure. Finally."

She kisses him again, gently on the lips, but he pulls away, stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he apologizes softly. "It's just . . . I hope you don't think that I brought you here for this."

Sarah chuckles. "Of course not. I know why you did it."

His eyebrows lift. "You do?"

"Everyone needs a few days away from the chaos," she shrugs. He looks appeased, but when she moves to kiss him again, he backs away again. Her stomach sinks. Of course. Just when she's starting to get used to the idea of a real relationship, he gets scared. Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, "What's the matter?"

He sighs, leans his forehead on her shoulder. "I don't know. I guess I've just been thinking too much over the past few days."

"About what?" Her voice comes out muffled as she places a kiss on the top of his head.

"About what made you so scared," he replies in a whisper.

"And you think you're inside my head, Mr. Bartowski?" she teases, but it's not as light-hearted as she wishes. "All right, then. So tell me what I was thinking."

Chuck looks up at her, his eyes heavy with apprehension. "Was it me?"

"Chuck," she breathes, "why would you think that?"

He's silent, but the look in his eyes tells her exactly what she needs to know. His past, his heart lay open for her. She slides off his lap and onto the bed next to him, turning his face towards her with her fingers. Tilting her head towards his ear, a smile on her face, she whispers, "Chuck . . . you were the fourth."

She watches as a smile slowly spreads across his face. "Really?" he asks.

"Really. Although I feel like I should be offended that you have to ask . . ."

"No, no, it's not –"

"Relax, Chuck," she assures him, playing with his curls. "And no, none of them were for a job."

He flushes. "What? I wasn't . . . that wasn't what I was thinking about at all."

"I know," she says, kissing him lightly on the lips, her fingers still flitting through his hair, "but I wanted you to know."

And when his lips crash into hers again, Sarah can feel the instant spark of happiness in her chest burst to life.

* * *

Sarah stares out at the forest, framed in the early morning light. She sits on the cabin steps, a sweater over her tank top, and watches the sun rise. He had been sleeping soundly when she'd sneaked out of the bedroom, but he surprises her by coming out onto the porch, the boards creaking as he shuffles over to her. She looks over as he sits down next to her and hands her a steaming mug of coffee.

A hand on the side of his face, she places a gentle kiss on his lips. "Good morning," she says quietly, her eyes still closed. "And thank you."

She's not sure what she's thanking him for, but he takes it in stride.

"Morning," he mumbles happily, softly kissing her neck.

Sarah turns back to view the mountains, and Chuck, one arm around her back, burrows his head into the crook of her neck. She lifts a hand to his head, her fingers sliding through his unkempt curls.

It's not even nine in the morning, and already she's pretty certain that this will easily prove to be one of her favorite days.

* * *

Fourteen months. Fourteen months is a long time to watch your life change.

Sarah sits at the desk in her office in the building of Chuck and Morgan's new video game company, Secret Agent Games, supposedly named after their respective girlfriends. It's a small company, started only ten months ago, but they've already finished and sold their first game. So now she's the PR rep, complete with her own office at the end of the hall, and Casey's the head of security, a job that suits his sensibilities much better than his previous job at the Buy More.

Swiveling in her desk chair, she picks up the most prominent photo frame, sitting next to her nameplate, the one that holds the picture of her and Chuck from their very first camping trip over a year ago. It's one of her favorite pictures of them, and it makes her feel exactly how Chuck himself makes her feel – like anything's possible, like the life they want is within their grasp.

Lifting her eyes from the photo, she turns her gaze to her boyfriend's office. The glass walls allow a clear view among all the rooms, excellent for her primary job, which is to protect him and information still stuck in his head. But she also likes that she can catch a glimpse of him whenever she gets bored during the work day.

Like right now. She should be booking TV interviews and comic and game conventions for the two guys in anticipation of the upcoming release but instead, she's staring at him like he's the chocolate and she's the peanut butter. He's sprawled on the floor of his office, a pen cap in his mouth, making marks on the papers scattered around him, his suit jacket thrown over the chair. Morgan sits a few feet away, his back against the couch, a grape soda in hand. The bearded man is chattering away, gesticulating wildly, while Chuck nods and, smiling, muffles an occasional remark through the pen cap in his teeth.

Sarah chuckles. She loves to watch their unorthodox work methods. Chuck scratches his head, leaning up to stretch his back. Sighing, she sets the photo back down on her desk and stands up. As she saunters across the hall, he looks up, spits the pen cap out of his mouth, and picks himself up off the floor to greet her, brushing off his pants.

He meets her just outside the office.

"Hey," he says softly, almost shyly, and she can't believe they've been doing this for fourteen months now.

A smile comes naturally to her lips. "Hey, yourself," she replies playfully, leaning into him, her hands against his chest.

Snaking his arms around his waist, he gives her a peck on the lips. "Morgan and I were gonna order Thai. Want me to get you something?"

"I have that lunch meeting in half-an-hour, remember?" she frowns.

Chuck nods. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." He hooks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "But you are going to be at the beach party this afternoon, right?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

He doesn't answer, his fingers poised against her cheek. He moves his thumb up to her forehead, the soft pad of his finger glancing over the fresh bruise from last night's mission. She had tried to hide it with her bangs and some make-up, but he knows it's there.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"Mmmhmm, fine."

He gives her another kiss. "Good."

Taking a deep breath, she pats his chest. "I have to get going, but I'll see you in a bit, all right?"

He nods, sending her off with a lingering kiss.

The rest of the day flies by, and Sarah soon finds herself walking down the beach, Chuck's hand in hers, the sand cool against her bare feet. She throws a backward glance at their party – Morgan, Anna, Ellie, Awesome, even Casey, all crowded around a burgeoning campfire a hundred feet down the shore. The distant laughter brings a smile to her face, and she turns to her boyfriend to find a matching one playing across his lips.

Chuck, dressed in trunks and a fleece pull-over, practically glows with contentment. She gives his hand a squeeze and pulls him closer, the waves crashing against her ankles.

"I'm sorry that I dragged you away from all the excitement," she says as she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No," he shakes his head. "I like being with you." He pauses, looking nervous. "I finally figured out what you that phrase means."

"Have you?" She grins, saying playfully, "Took you a long time. I say it to you often enough."

He tilts his head and says in a low voice, "Well, I have a response for you."

"Oh, yeah?" she chuckles. "What's that?"

Her breath catches in her throat as he lowers to one knee and pulls a ring box from his pocket, the moonlight glinting off the small, elegant diamond.

Chuck takes a deep breath and looks up intently.

"I apologize if I bungle the pronunciation, but, Sarah Walker, wyjdziesz za mnie*?"

Tears sparkle in her eyes, and she can't find words right away. Stunned, almost unable to breathe, she covers her mouth with her hands.

"Sarah?"

"Tak.*" The answer comes out in a whisper, as if she doesn't trust her own voice. But somehow between the nodding and the grinning, the realization hits her that all this is real, that this is all _right_.

Laughing, Chuck leaps up and envelops her in a hug.

She squeezes him tightly, letting a few happy tears roll down her cheeks.

"Tak."

* * *

Here are the translations for the Polish phrases:

*I'm in love with you.

*Will you marry me?

*Yes.


	7. The Marriage

Author's Note: Whew! I finally made it! A thousand apologies for the delay, but I've been off living in a tent, and I think that gives me somewhat of an excuse. :P Anyways, can't think of much else to say. Thanks for sticking with this story for so long! Hope you find the conclusion satisfying! :D

Thanks to **BillatWork **for his feedback.

_

* * *

There you are, standing right in front of me__  
There you are, standing right in front of me__  
All this fear falls away to leave me naked  
Hold me close,_  
'_Cause I need you to guide me to safety. – "Signal Fire," Snow Patrol_

The Porsche's tires crunch over the rocky dirt of the trailer park as Sarah slows the car to a stop. She kills the engine and leans across the seat to study the nearest trailer with a deep breath. After a month-long search, after countless roadblocks and dead ends, she's finally tracked him down.

After all the time she's spent anticipating, Sarah's worried that she's set her expectations too high. What if he's nothing like she expects? What if he doesn't want to be found? What if –

The sound of her cell phone ring drags her from her quickly-spiraling thoughts. She smiles when she sees Chuck's face on the screen.

"Hey, sweetie," she greets.

"Hey! I'm just calling to see how everything is."

Sarah smiles. "It's fine." She can't help but glance around at the nearly-deserted park as she talks to him. "I should be back by dinner."

"Great."

She can hear the relief in his voice, and his obvious worry for her warms her heart. She answers, "I'll call you on my way home, all right?"

His voice is softer when he speaks again. "Okay. Talk to you soon, then." She's about to hang up when he suddenly asks, "Sarah?"

The vulnerability infused in her name gives her pause. She swallows, her mouth dry. "Yeah?"

"Kocham cie."

Sarah smiles as she climbs out of the car. "I love you, too, Chuck."

Her smile fades as she turns toward the trailer, vague apprehension in her gut. Her hair is pulled up into a tight ponytail to keep the heat off her neck, and she throws on shiny sunglasses to protect against the mid-afternoon glare. She keeps her jacket on even in the sun, because she's only wearing a tank top underneath, and she doesn't want to meet him looking like a bum.

Cautiously, nervously, she makes her way toward the door of the trailer, her footsteps crunching as she goes. She takes a deep breath, dries her palms on her jeans before she knocks.

There's no answer. She waits another minute, strains her ears for any signs of life inside, then slowly opens the door and peeks her head inside.

Stephen Bartowski's passed out on the couch, snoring lightly, unshaven, wearing a wrinkled flannel shirt and faded jeans.

Sarah frowns, pondering her next move. She knocks on the open door frame, more loudly this time, and Mr. Bartowski wakes with a jolt, sitting upright.

"Hey, ho," he murmurs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What's going on?" When he sees her, he stands and says, "Hello. Can I . . . can I help you?"

"Hi," Sarah smiles, taking a step inside and holding out her hand. "I'm Sarah Walker. I've actually been looking for you."

"Really?" Mr. Bartowski asks as he shakes her hand. He stares at her wrist, the charm bracelet hanging off it. "Why's that?"

She sighs, smiling. Is there an easy way to say this? "I'm marrying your son."

"Charles?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

She nods and pulls out her wallet, showing him a picture of them together at a picnic over the summer. "The wedding's two Saturdays from now. Chuck and Ellie miss you. I know they'd love it if you could come."

"Um, I don't know," he sighs, looking regretfully at the photo in his hand. "I'm sure everyone would have a much better time if I didn't."

Sarah takes a step forward. "It's your son. It's his wedding," she tells him emphatically. "How can you not want to be there for him?" She lets out a breath, calming herself. "I'm sorry. I just thought . . . I wanted this to be special for him."

She deflates, feeling like her hopes to give Chuck something he deserves are crashing in around her, and turns to leave.

"I'll need to get cleaned up before I see them."

Sarah turns back to Mr. Bartowski, an incredulous smile on her face. Suddenly self-conscious, he smoothes his t-shirt and runs his fingers through his hair in an effort to tame it.

"Give me a few minutes to pack?"

"Yeah, of course," she nods, trying to contain her delight.

"I'll be ready in five minutes," he responds, already walking back to the bedroom area and gathering some clothes. "I promise."

She smiles, because she can wait another few minutes for him after Chuck's waited all these years. "Do you need any help?" she asks.

He shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. "No, but thanks," he answers from within. "But, if you don't mind me asking, how long have you been dating my son?"

Sarah leans against the wall of the trailer and crosses her arms. "We've been together about three years now," she replies, raising her voice above the noise of the sink water running.

"And Charles, he's happy?"

"I'm sure he'll have a lot to tell you. Mr. Bartowski, I know he wants you to be there. So does Ellie."

"Call me Steve," he says, coming out of the bathroom, freshly-shaven. Chuckling, he adds, "Or Dad, if you really want to."

She laughs. "Are you ready?"

Steve nods and motions towards the door. Sarah walks towards the car while he locks up the trailer. Something rustles in the woods nearby. She straightens to attention, her eyes trained on the trees, her muscles taut as her hand strays behind her back towards her gun.

A chipmunk scampers out, oblivious, and Sarah relaxes, walking the few remaining steps to the car and hopping into the driver's seat. Steve throws his duffel bag into the back seat and sits beside her.

"You work for the government, don't you?" he asks quietly as she shifts the car into gear and pulls away from the trailer park.

"Excuse me?" Sarah asks, glancing at him sideways.

Frowning, he says, "You have a gun in the waistband of your jeans. I know what kind of people carry guns like that."

She purses her lips, contemplating her reply. She hadn't anticipated this, had operated under the assumption that Chuck's dad was of the normal dead-beat variety, not the government-created one. "Whoever you think I am," she finally says over the rush of the wind, "I promise it's not what you think."

Steve stares at the passing scenery for a moment before asking, "Does Charles know?"

"Yes."

He shifts uncomfortably in the seat. "Maybe you should take me back."

"What? Why?" she asks, almost in a panic at the thought of getting so close and having the opportunity slip from her fingers.

"I'm just . . . I'm not sure this is going to work, that's all."

Sarah looks over at him. "Is this about Chuck? If it is, Steve, Mr. Bartowski, I promise you, keeping him safe is the only thing I care about." She frowns as she struggles to get across her feelings for Chuck.

To her surprise, Steve chuckles. "You remind me of my wife."

"Really?" she asks softly, a shy smile on her lips.

He nods, "Yeah." Soberly, he adds, "She worked for them, too. I was an engineer for them, built a computer. That's how we met." He sighs. "I know I don't look like much, but I'm not as bad a father as I seem."

"I know Chuck admires you."

"I hope he doesn't blame me for leaving. I had my reasons."

"I'm sure you did."

He looks over at her. "You're not going to ask me what they were?"

"Would you tell me?" she asks, not taking her eyes from the road.

He smiles nostalgically, saying, "You know what it's like, how dangerous it is to work for them."

Sarah tightens her lips. "Your wife," she prompts gently.

With a nod, Steve continues, "We tried to keep the kids safe, but it's hard to raise a family when you have a duty to your country."

Sarah tightens her grip on the wheel. She doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want to hear a story of failure, especially not one that started out remarkably similar to her own. She doesn't want him to draw the parallels; she can do that for herself. She doesn't want the reminders of how hard a normal life is going to be.

"You're wearing her bracelet."

It's a whisper she barely catches over the roar of the road.

"Chuck gave it to me for Christmas a few years ago," she tells him quietly, sneaking a glance at him.

He's quiet, regarding the bracelet thoughtfully. After a moment, he smiles and says, "Well, I guess I should get to the know the woman my son's in love with."

* * *

Sarah sits up in bed, shifting under the covers as Chuck walks into the room.

"How'd it go?" she asks softly.

Chuck had been speechless for almost two minutes when she had brought his father home, and, to give them time as a family, she had respectfully declined to go out with them and Ellie for dinner.

He smiles as he changes into some pajama pants. "Really well," he says. "Ellie was surprised, but I think she's happy to have him back. We've still got a lot of catching up to do."

She smiles, beckons him over to the bed. "I'm glad."

He crawls on top of the covers, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his face in her shoulder. "Mmm," he groans, "you smell nice."

Chuckling, she runs a hand through his hair. "Thank you. Where's your dad?"

"Staying with Ellie and Awesome," he responds tiredly. "We figured it was better, seeing as it's so close to the wedding and all."

Sarah nods and breathes deeply.

He pulls away and looks up at her. "That okay?"

"Mmm-hmm, of course," she says.

Chuck pecks her on the lips. "Good." He yawns. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

She lies down and scootches over to give him room under the covers. He spoons up against her, softly nuzzling her neck. She reaches a hand behind her and threads her fingers into his hair, the curls soft and wispy against her fingertips.

"I still can't believe you found him," he breathes.

Sarah sighs, a smile on her face. "I did it for you. I knew you wanted him there for Ellie's wedding, and I wanted to make you happy."

He places a kiss on the back of her neck and says softly in her ear, "You do realize that you're the only thing I need to be happy, right?"

Chuckling quietly, she says, "Even so, you deserve to have your family back together, and I just want to do all I can for you."

"Thank you," he says softly.

She snuggles into him, comforted by his presence, and drifts off to sleep in his arms.

* * *

When Casey drops them off at their apartment after the mission, Sarah lets Chuck hop out of the suburban first. He stops on the curb when he realizes she isn't following and walks over to the window.

"I'll just be a minute," she says, rolling down the window. "Casey and I need to talk."

Chuck nods, places a kiss on her forehead, and quietly responds, "Okay. Sure."

"I'll be up in a few minutes," she says to his retreating form. He looks back and gives her a wave, and she keeps her eyes trained on him as he rounds the corner into the courtyard and disappears.

"So we'll go after the girlfriend tomorrow," Casey tells her.

"And Chuck?"

"We should be able to handle it. He deserves a day off." Casey glances over. "I assume this isn't what you wanted to talk about?"

Nibbling her lower lip, she shakes her head. "It's about the wedding." He doesn't respond, which she takes as a sign to continue, so she says, "I don't really have a lot of family left, but you've been the best damn partner I've ever had."

His lips twitch into the hint of a smile. "Your point?"

"I want you to walk me down the aisle."

Casey leans back in his seat with a sigh. "You know what you're getting into, right?"

She swallows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this isn't a mission, it hasn't been for a long time now. When the time comes that he's no longer useful, you won't be able to just pick up and leave like it's another assignment." He pauses, glancing over at her. "This is forever, Sarah."

For some reason, hearing the words aloud jars her. It's not like she hadn't thought about it, not like she hasn't prepared herself. She's been in the agency for almost fifteen years now, long enough to know that, for spies, marriage is basically early retirement. And she knows how tough trying to juggle family and a career is going to be, knows how numerous and dear the sacrifices will be. Staring out the windshield, she nods. "I know that."

Casey shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye. "Bartowski's already blackmailed me into being in the wedding party. Now I have to pull double duty and walk you down the aisle?"

Chuckling, she responds, "You know you want to."

"I do," he responds, surprisingly candid. "In fact, I'd be honored." He clears his throat, and she decides to leave it at that.

"Thank you," Sarah says quietly before bidding him goodnight and returning to the apartment. Chuck's on the couch, already fused to his Xbox. She sneaks by him to the hallway and ducks into the bathroom for a shower. The door creaks open as she's shampooing, and she freezes.

"Chuck?" she calls before poking her head around the curtain to see him sitting on the tank of the toilet, his sneakers up on the closed lid, his chin resting on his folded hands. She narrows her eyebrows. "Chuck, what's wrong?"

He looks up, a frown on his face. "Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"We've been together for three years now, Sarah, and I've known you for five. I know when something's wrong, and I know when something's . . . off in our relationship." He sets his jaw. "And I'm not leaving this bathroom until we talk about it."

She sighs, the water spluttering over her lips. "Chuck . . . it's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" he demands softly as he stands up. "You can talk to me, Sarah. Isn't that what this is about? Isn't that how relationships are supposed to work?"

Dipping back into the shower, she rinses off the shampoo in her hair. She reaches a hand out. "Hand me a towel?" Chuck complies, but she can hear him huff in frustration as he does so. She dries off hurriedly before wrapping the towel around herself and stepping out of the shower.

"Listen to me, Chuck," she says, her hand on his chin. "This is nothing to do with you. The wedding is really close, Ellie's going crazy with the planning, and I just have a lot on my mind. That's all."

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as he lets it out. He leans his forehead against hers. "You promise?" he asks with a slight smile.

Lifting a hand to his neck, she smiles. "I promise."

"And you'd talk to me if it were anything else?"

"Of course."

Satisfied, he seals the promise with a kiss.

* * *

Sarah, Ellie, and Chuck sit on the living room floor, surrounded by laptops, CDs, iPods, even Chuck's old boom box. As the matron of honor, Ellie's been taking her duties very seriously. She had practically freaked when she realized that the engaged couple hadn't chosen a wedding song only six days before the big day, and Sarah had come home to find the siblings already deep into their music collections.

And now she's doing her best to contribute, even though Chuck's music collection is so vast it's intimidating and though she doesn't actually have that much of an opinion one way or another. She's just scared of letting Ellie know that.

"Okay," Ellie says as she clicks on a new song, "how about . . . "At Last" by Etta James?"

The song comes through the speakers of Ellie's laptop. Sarah's never heard it before, but she can easily believe that it came from one of the CD compilations Ellie and her future mother-in-law had combed through while planning the Woodcomb wedding.

"I don't know, Ellie," Chuck says, leaning his head against the couch. "We're not really a traditional sort of couple."

Sarah chuckles lightly as she thinks of how true his words are. Her thoughts take a dark turn, and the chuckle dies from her lips. She's never pretended to be normal for him; it's never seemed to matter. They are who they are – spies, friends, lovers. They've been figuring out as they go, and it's worked for them.

But what if he wants more?

What if he wakes up, a year or two from now, and realizes she can't offer him the normalcy he craves? She's been living with this secret fear ever since they began dating, the fear that he'd suddenly see nothing but her past. She's so much more now, and all because of him.

She just hopes he can see all that.

Sarah is pulled out of the quagmire of her thoughts by Chuck's voice, a light in the darkness.

"Okay, I think I've got one," he says as he fiddles with his iPod.

Sarah stares at the leg of the coffee table as she listens to the beginning of the song.

_The perfect words never crossed my mind,_

'_Cause there was nothing in there but you._

_I felt every ounce of me screaming out,_

_But the sound was trapped deep in me._

_All I've wanted just sped right past me,_

_But I was rooted fast to the Earth._

_I could be stuck here for a thousand years_

_Without your arms to drag me out._

Sarah smiles as she listens, because it describes them perfectly. As the chorus kicks in, she looks up at her fiancé, sitting on the opposite side of the coffee table, his legs stretched out so that his feet rest beside her knees. He's smiling, his eyes shining with affection.

"That's it," she says quietly.

Chuck looks surprised. "You like it?"

"Absolutely."

"Great," he grins. "'Signal Fire' it is then."

Ellie laughs, drawing their attention.

"What?" her brother asks curiously.

She shakes her head. "I just think it's funny how you spend two hours looking for the perfect song and then choose one in two minutes. And actually agree on it."

Chuckling, Sarah shrugs. "I guess we know what we like."

"That you do," Ellie agrees, writing down the artist and song name. "It's a little unconventional, but I have to say, it suits you two."

Chuck tips his head to his sister. "Thank you."

"And thanks for all your help," Sarah tells her. "I don't think we would have gotten this done without you."

Ellie dismisses their thanks with a wave. "Oh, it was nothing. Anything for you two."

Chuck smirks. "You wanted to get out of the house, didn't you?" he accuses playfully. "Is Ian keeping you up at night?"

Ellie reddens slightly at her brother's teasing. Ian is the Woodcombs' five-month-old, a bubbly little boy who's as adorable as his doting parents.

"Actually," she says with a smile, "he's been a lot better the past couple weeks. But I can't deny that it feels nice to get some personal space. Devon gets a little nervous when Ian gets fussy, so I'm trying to give him some practice, let him get more confident."

"Well, we're always available to baby-sit, whenever you need us," Sarah offers.

"Thank you, but with Dad back, Devon and I have a bit more time together. And Dad's surprisingly good with Ian."

"Well," Chuck laughs, "they do share genes."

"Oh, speaking of Dad, I think he was going to make pancakes tonight. I thought you may want to come over. It'd be just the family."

Chuck looks over at Sarah, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

She sighs. "Actually, would you mind if we took a rain check?" she asks Ellie, offering her an apologetic look. "We haven't had much time together lately, so I thought we could just stay in for the night."

"Sure," Ellie responds amiably, "don't worry about it. Believe me, I know how it can be."

Ellie bids them goodnight and takes her iPod and laptop, leaving the apartment far quieter than it's been the past few hours. Sarah shows her soon-to-be sister-in-law out, giving her a warm hug, and returns to the living room to find Chuck stretched out on the couch. She grins and climbs onto the couch, hovering over him. Laughing throatily, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her down for a kiss.

When he breaks away, he asks, "So you just want to chill tonight?"

"Yeah," she replies, "I thought we could relax if that's okay with you. Rent a movie, order some Chinese."

He narrows his eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why all the sudden desire to slow down our normally insane schedules?"

She reaches up to cup his face, her thumb caressing his cheek gently. "Things have been crazy around here lately. I just want to make sure you know how much I care about you."

Chuck, an indecipherable look in his eye, gives her a lopsided smile, and for a moment Sarah thinks he's going to make a smart-ass remark about how their wedding at the end of the week should remind him of that. But he just grabs his cell phone off the coffee table and says, "I'll call for take-out. Number eight, right?"

She nods. "What kind of movie are you in the mood for?"

"Mmm . . . I think it's your turn to pick."

Sarah nibbles her bottom lip contemplatively. "How about _Episode II_?"

He chuckles, and she smiles as his thumb traces circles over her lower back. "If you're going to choose a _Star Wars _movie," he says, "you gotta go with _Empire_. You only like _Clones_ because you think Anakin's cute."

Sitting up, her palms resting against his abdomen, she smirks. "So what if I do? You jealous?"

"Jealous of Hayden Christensen? Well . . . he does get married to Natalie Portman," he teases, and Sarah smacks him lightly on the shoulder. Laughing, he pulls her down so their foreheads meet. "But how can I think about that when all I need is right here?"

Sarah grins, sliding her hands up his chest and capturing his lips with her own. As nervous as she is over this wedding, it's moments like this that always calm her down.

* * *

Sarah had expressly told Ellie she didn't want a bachelorette party, so when she, Anna, and Jane show up at the apartment at nine in the morning two days before the wedding, Sarah's not sure what to make of it.

"Relax," Ellie smiles, "this is going to be fun. Trust me."

Sarah looks to her sister, who had flown in with her family from Oregon the day before, for confirmation.

Jane takes a seat next to her and rubs her back gently. "You don't have a thing to worry about, sis," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "We're gonna take good care of you."

Sarah shakes her head, on the verge of agreeing to whatever her friends have in store, and the four women look up as Chuck walks into the kitchen, his bed-hair still sticking out at funny angles. He stops in the doorway, in the midst of rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"What's going on?" he mumbles.

Sarah smiles and takes a sip of her coffee. "They're taking me out for a day of debauchery."

He chuckles. "Try not to get in too much trouble, okay?"

She nods as he stumbles around the room to greet each woman with a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, Chuck," Jane says amiably as he offers her a kiss. "Nice to see you again."

"You, too," Chuck replies, his voice still sleepy. He slides over to Sarah, wraps his arms around her shoulders, and places a soft kiss on the back of her head. "Morning, hon."

Sarah folds her arms over his and breathes deeply, her eyes flicking shut as she breathes in his scent. "Good morning. What you up to today?"

"Well, now that you're leaving me all alone, maybe I'll call up Morgan. We haven't played _Call of Duty_ in a while."

"Wow," she laughs, "you've got a whole day to do whatever you want, and that's what you choose?"

He lets out a low, rumbly laugh into her hair. "What can I say? I'm low maintenance."

Half-an-hour later, she bids her fiancé goodbye and allow Ellie, Jane, and Anna to dictate her day. They take her to an indoor rock climbing facility, which is a lot more fun and a lot less 'bachelorette party' than anything she had expected. Ellie's been climbing before, with Awesome, but she clearly takes delight in spending time with her friends, and the four very different women get along well. Even Anna, who's never been climbing, energetically scrambles up to the top of the wall with a cheerful laugh.

By late morning, the four women are sweaty and exhausted. After agreeing to meet for lunch in an hour, they split up to shower and clean up – Anna and Ellie going back to their respective houses, Jane and Sarah returning to the latter's apartment.

Sarah slides into the driver's side and rests her head against the back of the seat. She basks in the silence for a few minutes, rolling the window down and letting the cool air wash over her. As they pull out onto the freeway, she turns the radio volume down and asks softly, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Jane nods. "Shoot."

Sarah frowns, nibbling at her lower lip. She takes a deep breath and asks, "Are you happy with Ben?"

"Of course I am," Jane answers automatically. When Sarah doesn't answer, she looks over, a concerned look in her eye, her smile fading. "Is everything okay?"

Sarah keeps her eyes trained on the road and the traffic in front of her.

Jane reaches out a hand and rests it on her sister's forearm. "Come on, Sarah. What's this about? You can talk to me."

Running a hand through her hair, Sarah lets out a sigh as she comes to a light and coasts the car to a stop. "I love Chuck. I do," she tells her in a firm, soft voice. She shakes her head slightly. "But I've never been so nervous in my life."

"About the wedding?"

"It's not just that. It's . . . everything." Frustrated at not being able to express herself well enough, she hits the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.

Jane leans over, rubbing her shoulder gently. "Relax, Sarah. What's this about?"

Sarah finally glances over at her sister, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You had to give it all up for them, for Ben and Danielle. I don't know if I can do that. I mean, I know Chuck would never ask." She turns her eyes back to the road when the light turns green, and her voice is shaky as she continues, "But what if, five years from now, we've got kids and a mortgage, and we suddenly realize that it isn't working, that something has to give? What happens when everything comes crashing down because we didn't have the foresight to prioritize? Because we didn't want to choose between our family and our careers?"

Taking a deep breath, Jane continues to massage her sister's shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey, now," she says soothingly. "Calm down, all right?"

Sarah focuses on slowing her breathing but continues to drive, somehow finding comfort in the mindless motions. "Yeah, okay. It's just . . . this has been on my mind for a few days, and I don't really have anyone to talk to about this particular thing."

"I know, sweetie, but . . ."

Jane pauses, just long enough for Sarah's stomach to drop apprehensively.

Sarah looks over. "What? What is it?"

Frowning, Jane turns her gaze toward the cars in front of them. She hesitates for a moment before quietly replying, "Have you tried talking to Chuck?"

Sarah leans her elbow on the open window and rests her forehead against her hand. "I can't, Jane."

"You can marry him but you can't talk to him?"

"Not about this."

"Why not?"

"Because he's Chuck," she sighs, exasperated. "He'll agree to anything if he thinks it'll make me happy . . ."

Jane lets a small smirk onto her face. "And what exactly is wrong with that?"

Sarah hesitates, her gaze trained on the bumper of the car in front of her. "Do you know what he's giving up for me?" Jane doesn't answer, so she swallows thickly and answers her own question. "He's giving up the last shot he has at a normal life. That's all he's wanted since this began. How can I let him do that when I won't even give up my job for him?"

"Sarah," Jane says softly, "you can't judge yourself like that. Think about it. I was never like you or Mom. Quitting would never affect me like it would affect you. Just because I made that choice doesn't mean it'd be the right one for you. And Chuck, well . . ." She shrugs, choosing her words. "I know how much you two love each other, but I also know how different you are. You've got different ways of showing how you feel, so is it really fair for you to judge yourself by his standards?"

"Jane," Sarah begins, pursing her lips, "I don't want to screw this up."

Her sister smiles. "And that's exactly why you two will be absolutely fine."

When they reach the apartment, they don't find Chuck and Morgan playing Xbox and eating pizza, like they had expected. Instead, Chuck, Morgan, Awesome, Ben, and Danielle are all relaxing on the living room couch. The room is alive with laughter.

Chuck is entertaining Danielle, bouncing the three-year-old on his knee like a practiced father. Sarah's heart swells with longing at the sight.

"Hey, everyone," Jane greets with a smile. "What's going on?"

"We felt a little left out," Morgan explains with a mocking tilt of his head, "so we decided to have a party of our own."

Sarah laughs. "Well, sorry we interrupted. We just need to clean up a bit before heading back out."

Chuck's face falls at that news, but he stays silent. As she readies for lunch, the image of Chuck and Danielle stays in her mind, and suddenly she's not so nervous.

* * *

Sarah curls up on the bed, pulling the covers tighter around her body. It's a warm night, but, feeling Chuck's absence acutely, she's strangely cold. The knowledge that Ellie is just down the hallway in the spare bedroom is reassuring, but in the way _Star Trek III_ is decent viewing only if you've acknowledge that _Star Trek II_ is vastly superior. She had insisted on staying, both to more easily fulfill her matron-of-honor duties in the morning and to keep Sarah company during the lonely evening, and Sarah had welcomed the visit. Jane and Anna had been over earlier as well, but both had gone back to their respective significant others.

And now it's nearly eleven o'clock at night, Ellie's sleeping, and the only thing Sarah can think of is the man who isn't beside her.

She turns her mind instead to the early stages of their relationship, when he had pushed and prodded to get closer to her and she had resisted at every turn, when he had refused to give up until she acknowledged their thing beneath the undercover thing. A small smile creeps onto her face as she recalls the time he had taken care of her when she was sick. On a whim, she climbs out of bed and pops their copy of _Wall-E_ into the DVD player, trying to recapture that feeling of warmth she unconsciously associates with Chuck.

When the DVD menu pops up, Sarah drops the remote and picks up her cell phone instead.

He answers after the second ring.

"Sarah," he greets happily. "Everything all right?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it's the night before our wedding, and we're not supposed to talk to each other."

She chuckles. "We're not supposed to see each other on the day of. There's nothing against talking, though . . . at least I don't think there is."

"Maybe someone should explain the rules to us better," he laughs lightly. "So what's up? Did you just miss me too much?"

Sighing, she leans back against the headboard and says, "Actually, yeah. I'm even watching _Wall-E_."

He chuckles softly. "Because they're us."

"Mmm-hmm." She smiles at the memory.

"Well, hey," he begins, and she can hear muffled noises in the background. "Give me a minute." He hums a bit as he continues doing something on his end of the phone. "Oh! Found it!"

"Found what?"

"Ellie's got a copy. Why don't we watch it together?"

Laughing quietly, she asks, "Watch it separately but together?"

"Yeah, why not? I miss you."

"All right, then," she agrees. "Let's watch some _Wall-E_."

And even though they've watched this movie at least a dozen times in the past three or four years, tonight's viewing feels different, more meaningful. Chuck stays on the phone with her for the entirety of the film, their conversation ebbing and flowing.

But even in the silences, knowing he's there is enough.

* * *

Her feet pound steadily over the pavement, beat out the rhythm of the music flowing through her ear buds. She's been jogging for over forty-five minutes now, watching the sun come up and the city come alive. Her t-shirt's drenched in sweat from the early morning heat.

She had thought a run would calm her nerves, but the more time she has to think, the more nervous she gets.

This is her _wedding_ day, a day she thought she'd never get to experience, least of all to a man as special as Chuck.

But here it is, and she feels like she's lost each and every calm and collected bone in her body. After three years of comfort and security, she feels like she's suddenly standing on a precipice, her toes hanging off the edge as she struggles to wrap her mind around the uncertain leap she's about to take.

As an agent, she's faced uncertainty before, all the time really. But this time it's so much different. This time it isn't her life on the line, it's her heart.

Sarah focuses on her breathing – in through her nose, out through her mouth – to get her mind off her nerves. This is normal, right? This has to be normal. Every bride has doubts the morning of.

_Of course_, she reassures herself as she rounds the corner of her street. _Of course_.

She slows as she nears the apartment building. Ellie's standing on the curb, pacing restlessly, her arms crossed over her chest. She catches sight of Sarah and rushes toward her, awash with anxiety.

"Sarah!" Ellie says, exasperated. "You do remember that you're getting married in seven hours, right?"

Sarah, grimacing with her labored breaths, wipes her forehead with the back of her wrist. "I didn't realize how long I've been running," she apologizes. "Sorry, Ellie."

Ellie takes her by the shoulders and looks her straight in the eye. "Sarah, look at me. Is everything all right? You can talk to me."

Breathing deeply, Sarah smiles at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. She can barely define her fears to herself. How could she possibly explain them to Ellie?

"Thanks, Ellie, but I think . . . I think I'm okay. Nervous, but okay."

Ellie, visibly relieved, nods and says, "Good. Now let's go get you dressed!"

She pulls her back into the apartment to get ready, and Sarah finds strength in her friend's happiness and support.

* * *

Late morning sunlight filters in through the window, illuminates the bedroom. Sarah, in a strapless, champagne-colored wedding gown; and Ellie, in her dark brown bridesmaid dress, stand near the full-sized mirror in the corner. Sarah, wearing a tentative smile, smoothes the folds of her dress and studies her reflection. An expert gaze centered on the bride, Ellie fixes her bangs.

"You look gorgeous," Ellie smiles.

"Thank you," Sarah replies softly. She nibbles her bottom lip, a question on the tip of her tongue. Looking up at Ellie, she asks, "Do you think Chuck will like it?"

"Absolutely," Ellie breathes, rubbing her shoulder reassuringly. She checks the clock on the dresser and asks, "Are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath and drying her palms on her dress, Sarah nods. She holds up her wrist to show Ellie the bracelet Chuck had given him, their mother's bracelet. "Something old," she announces.

Ellie smiles. "And something new?"

Sarah fingers her necklace, a silver chain and charm, the initials _S_ and _C_ intertwined. "This. Chuck gave it to me a few days ago."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah. And something borrowed." Sarah lifts the skirt of her dress to reveal her garter. "Thank you for that."

"No problem."

"And finally, something blue," she says, pointing to the opposite corner of the room, where a pair of baby blue, low-top Converse All-stars sit.

Ellie lets out a soft laugh and rolls her eyes. "You really do belong with my brother."

Sarah swallows thickly, feeling as if her heart catches in her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut as her stomach drops.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ellie asks, concern in her eyes.

Sarah looks at her sheepishly. "Ellie . . ."

"What? What is it?"

"I need to talk to your brother."

Ellie puts a hand to her heart and sighs in relief. "Is that all? For a second there, I thought you were going to call off the wedding!" She laughs as if the thought really hadn't crossed her mind.

Within three minutes they have a plan cooked up, and, a half-hour later, Sarah's waiting in a limo in the back of the Woodcomb apartment. She stares at her Converses, fidgets with her engagement ring as she waits for Chuck.

Her breath leaves her lungs as she catches sight of him rounding the corner, followed closely by Awesome, Morgan, Casey, and Mr. Bartowski. His tux is a perfect fit, the material just taut enough to show off his lean form, the black and white scheme faultlessly matching his brand-new Chuck Taylors. He opens back door of the limo and stops short when he sees her.

"Arg," he shouts, throwing his hands up in front of his face. "Sarah, what are you doing? I can't see you right now!"

Amidst the confusion, Awesome pokes his head in, his mouth contorted in confusion. "Sarah? What's going on?"

"I need to talk to Chuck," she says decisively. "I don't care about tradition."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just need to see him for a few minutes." When he doesn't look convinced, she adds, "Ellie called you and explained everything. Check your messages."

He pats his jacket pockets and locates his cell. "Okay. I'll let him know."

Awesome shuts the door, and she watches through the window as he converses with Chuck. A minute later, the four groomsmen head towards Casey's suburban, and Chuck slides into the back seat next to her.

He keeps his eyes trained on his feet.

Sarah smirks. "You can look at me, you know."

"What about the rules?"

"When have we met a rule we haven't bent?"

Chuck looks up, a lopsided grin on his face. "You look gorgeous," he says quickly.

Impulsively, she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a soft kiss.

"But what's really going on?" he asks quietly, his eyes tinged with unease.

"Remember when you said I could talk to you about anything?" He nods. "Well," she sighs, "I need to talk."

He lifts his brows. "Now? You need to talk an hour before we supposed to get married?"

Swallowing, she nods. "Yeah, Chuck, I have some things I need to say to you."

Chuck, taking a deep breath, rests against the seat and looks intently at her. "Okay," he says, "I'm listening."

Sarah's mouth is suddenly dry, her pulse suddenly racing. After a false start or two, she manages to choke out, "I love you, Chuck. I have no doubt about that. But I won't lie, the wedding has made me think a lot, about how difficult this is going to be, about how hard we're going to have to fight to make this work."

She sighs, unhappy with the way it came out, but feeling unable to clarify it further. Chuck is silent a moment, waiting to see if she's finished. She looks up to nervously meet his eyes.

"Sarah . . ." he begins, rubbing his temple. "I know my spy skills aren't as good as yours, but I like to think that I've learned a few things ever since you came into my life. So believe me, I know how difficult it is for you to trust people, Sarah, for you to believe in their good intentions. But the fact of the matter is that for every step I took into your world, you took one step into mine. And that means that I get to care for you. I think I've earned that right after all these years, don't you?

"But I can't do that unless you let me, unless you trust me."

Sarah waits, trying to calm her overwhelming emotions.

He takes her hand in his and continues, "In an hour, I'm going to be your husband, and I swear to you with every fiber of my being. I will take care of you, to the best of my ability." He smiles crookedly. "But you have to give me some room here. . . . I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. I'm terrified out of my mind right now. Everything's changing so fast, but I know we're going to be okay. More than okay. Because you're going to be right by my side the entire time."

Chuck leans into her, wraps his arms gently around her waist. "You've given me so much over the past five years. I'm asking you to let me do the same for you."

She sniffles, wiping a tear from her cheek. He's been taking care of her for so long, even though he's been as scared as she has. Isn't it her turn to take care of him?

She's been laboring under the delusion that her job has allowed her to fight for the greater good, a noble cause. It's not until this moment, looking into Chuck's deep brown eyes, that she realizes just where true nobility lies.

In love.

She slides a palm along his neck, pulls him down to her. "You know you're always number one, right?" she says. "You never have to worry about that."

"I know," he reassures her as he kisses the tear away. "We'll do this together, Sarah."

She presses a soft kiss to his lips and whispers, "I love you."

Chuck pulls away slightly to look down into her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"Always."

* * *

Sarah Walker Bartowski, resplendent in her wedding gown, stands on the shore and lets the waves wash over her bare feet. Chuck's hand is a calm, familiar weight in her own. Her new husband's form is framed against the setting sun, his jacket off, his bowtie loose, his shirt partially unbuttoned. She'll remember this image of him forever, but what she'll remember most is the smile on his face. She can only describe it as incandescently happy, and she's certain her own smile is just as effusive.

She throws a glance over her shoulder at the reception tent, lit up in the growing twilight by strings of star lights. The sound of laughter mingled with conversation and music drifts over, and Sarah can hear Morgan's voice carrying above the rest of the din as he calls for Jeffster to play "Don't Stop Believing."

Chuckling softly, Sarah returns her attentions to Chuck. She runs a hand down his chest, fiddling lightly with his shirt collar before tugging on his hand and pulling him along the shore in the opposite direction.

"Shouldn't we get back to our guests?" he asks reluctantly.

She shrugs, pulls him closer. "They'll survive for another few minutes."

The sand squishes between her toes as they walk contentedly down the shoreline. She's never felt so lucky, so alive, and life has never felt so perfect. Well-aware that the life she's grown into is more than she deserves, she makes herself a promise, a promise to do her best to keep it.

The sounds of childish laughter reaches their ears, and Sarah looks back to see Danielle being chased into the waves by her father.

"Chuck . . ." she ventures softly.

"Yeah?"

Sarah's lips twist into a smile as she watches her niece. "I want kids. Lots."

Stroking her cheek, he chuckles in agreement. "How many is 'lots'?"

"Mmm . . ." she murmurs, "I'm thinking half a dozen. At least."

"Oh, of course," he agrees with a grin. A sly gleam in his eye, he says, "If we're going to have that many, don't you think we should get started?"

She holds his gaze for a brief moment before bursting out in a laugh.

And Sarah Walker Bartowski, standing barefoot at the edge of the ocean, kisses her husband as the golden rays of the setting sun wash over them like a blessing.


End file.
